


From Hell With Love

by Haleux



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bi Stan, Bipolar Disorder, Blackmail, Camboy Stan, Canon-Typical Violence, Cheating, Consensual Kink, Corruption, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Degrading kink, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Disturbing Themes, Drugs, Enemies With Benefits, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, FHWL, Fanservice, Finger Sucking, Flashbacks, From Sex to Love, God Complex, Homophobia, Horny Teenagers, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, Just an AU Where Everyone Looks Hot and are Well-Dressed, M/M, Mind Games, Nerdiness, Occult, One-Sided Attraction, Past Child Abuse, Porn, Public Sex, Religion, Romance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sex Work, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sluttiness, Sports, Stalking, Stan's a Joth, Staring, Stupidity, Teenage Drama, Top Craig Tucker, Triggers, Underage Masturbation, Voyeurism, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 119,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haleux/pseuds/Haleux
Summary: Finally official since 12th grade, Stan and Craig turn their non-existent PDA up a notch when the heat of their romance reopens wounds and sparks outrage toward their childhood friends. A new app causes mishap around the college kids. Stan is a sex addict and a recovering alcoholic. Meanwhile, Craig is labeled a "cheater".





	1. Blowjobs Are Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> _Stan likes being watched._  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This fic is dedicated to my friends and all the interesting South Park fans I've met in this fandom. For the most part, most people have been kind! Thank you momijikaze for helping me push through with this idea for many months. I feel less guilty now. So, I dedicate a huge part of this fic to you and my friend Loli. And to every Staig shipper that's got me this far. Writing this has been really fun and therapeutic. Thank you, you guys are amazing!! xx
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>  **WARNING:** These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against animals and human beings; or fictional minors. Any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above. All characters minus the rapey OCs belong to Matt and Trey. Please don't sue me, I don't have any money. Enjoy the problematic/plotty porn. Kiss kiss. xx 
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> Cover art (used with permission) by j-witless @ Deviantart
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> Copyright © 2018- by Haleux
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> https://kaolra.tumblr.com
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> https://twitter.com/kaolra

 

 

 

 

Craig's Adam's apple bobbed lightly when he swallowed. A set of hands rest against the edge of a bathroom sink counter and he leaned backwards.

Elbows pointed, eyes pressed shut. With his front teeth sinking into his bottom lip, the nineteen-year-old arched his neck back and lets out a content sigh. Holding a half-lidded gaze, he let his hands explore each side of a face before he tangled his fingers through his boyfriend's jet black hair. He watched perversely as the boy's darkened lips pool with saliva, dripped, and rolled down his chin.

This would probably be the third blow job he received this week. In the back of his throat, Stan Marsh took him and he felt him thicken. Craig's pink tongue swabbed over his lips deliciously as the person below him fastened his grip on him with his short nails digging into the bare skin of his ass. His leaking cock plunged deeper into his oral canal and he thought he would lose it.

Nose flushed up against his faint happy trail, the jock gagged softly as he palmed the shape of his own cock through his dark denim jeans. Feeling smug, during mid-suck Craig pulled his dick out, earning a glare from the athlete that is settled on his hands and knees now.

The guy glowered at him and made an annoyed sound and Craig tilts his hips forward, leaned in and inserts it back in. The receiver's tongue hangs over his bottom lip, as the olive-skinned teenager in his chullo hat reared back and repeats two more times. The head of his erection released from his pink lips in cute pop each time.

He didn't budge at the  _woop_ sound effect his phone made. 

Though he probably should have kept it at silent, at the edge of the linoleum counter Craig felt his iPhone vibrate again and rolled his eyes at it. He had already hung up on Clyde when he was yammering about away his new girlfriend's ass and her _giant tits_. He's pretty sure those new text messages are from him. It flashed when his fingers grazed the screen after his hand moved an inch over it.

Over the buzzing noises, he lets his head fall back and lets out another breathy moan while greedy slurping sounds infiltrated the room. “ _Uhhng_.  _Shit._ ” As Craig thrusts and embeds himself deeper, the most delightful hum registered from his lips while his cock slipped and nods behind his cheek.

“Keep going...” Craig urged, enjoying the sensation covering his manhood.

Along the lines, he uttered something about it feeling great, sliding his fingers through the boy's long fringe. Another sigh, his shoulders sagged and he licked his lips and then his eyes drift shut.

“Yeah, that's it. _That's it, that's it_... _Suck me_ ,” Craig instructed his jock boyfriend, while short fingernails are digging above his bare knees. “ _Mmm_ , if only you can see how much of a slut look you look like when I fuck your mouth. This is better than ice-cream and going to the movies. You've gotten really good at this.”

Slightly shock that he's been praised, but he didn't show it, Stan's mouth tightly circled around his engorged shaft. The male hummed pleasant vibrations around him and the heat of his saliva that ran heavily down his cock.

Around the eighth time the device rumbled, Craig swiped a finger over the lock screen. Clyde had just sent him another meme. He brought a keyboard down to send laughing emojis and one worded replies. The white reflection of the text app reflects brightly over his dull eyes.

In contrast to that, there was a series of tapping sounds that went on for a full minute while he held his boyfriend still with his other hand, texting back fast with his thumb. Offended, Stan whipped his head back and gave him the most hateful glare. His voice was hoarse at the beginning.

“Craig. What the fuck? I'm giving you a blowjob and you're on the phone again?”

So much emphasis on the F. His complaint is quickly greeted by an expressionless glance and then a middle finger raised at him. Craig shuddered when the cold air brushed against his exposed shaft and Stan's fist wrapping around it again while another bead of pre-cum formed at the tip. He chewed his lip and he couldn't help smirking now at irritation etched on Stan's face. Small smile spreading over his lips, Craig lets out a nasally chuckle between alternating the tabs and switching it to the camera while Stan laps it up.

Still easy to ruffle as always. When Stanley Marsh got all angry and pouty like that, Craig thought it was the fucking cutest thing ever. He'd never tell him that though, but during grade school Craig would devise different ways of coaxing that, just to get a rise. Any attention from Stan, even if it's negative, would make him so giddy. Those reactions had been so easy to get off to. Other times, he would roll his eyes at how sensitive the boy could be.

Regardless of the past, Craig always wanted to hang out with Stan alone, but his idiot friends would always be there to annoy him – and when they were together, they would do the dumbest shit  _ever_. Even more disappointingly, Stan was either never around whenever Craig reluctantly accepted Cartman's invitations or he'd be too oblivious or obnoxious to notice him. Such an idiot. And as always, Craig never understood the fascination Kenny had with his tit magazines, Kyle was an angry tumor himself, and Eric Cartman... well, he's just a paragon of disappointment. The only good one was Stan.

As a kid, Craig always thought he was too cool for them. When he was by himself and wasn't being a total bitch, of course.

After laving over the head with his tongue and twisting his mouth over it, Stan parts for air again. The camera's lens on Craig's phone gleamed when it met with the light from their bedroom.

“Fucking dick,” The boy rasped below him, his throat a bit sore from his boyfriend's dick scraping against it. “You're really getting off to recording this, aren't you?”

Craig lowered his eyes. The neutral gaze on his face remains, and he panned the lens closer to him on all fours. “Duh, Stan.”

Being employed at a bank branch that his mother recommended had its perks, Craig had paid good money for his underwear. Designer boxers down to his knees, the chullo hat wearing young man smirked and gave his lips another lick before balancing the smartphone on his hand and panning it closer to Stan. It was the jock's turn to raise an appreciative middle finger this time at the filtered lens, giving Craig's inner thigh a playful bite and swabbing the pink mark with his tongue. “Yeah, lick me you stupid bitch!” sniggered, tilting his face up.

“Shut up, asshole. I may be on my knees, but you're the one being a docile little lamb right now." Stan rubbed his hands soothingly over the warm legs in front of him. "Make sure you capture my cheeks, fuckhead. I want to see the drool from my lips, when I take you back into my mouth hard.”

Amused, Craig hitched a breath with his laugh, “Did you just compare me to _livestock?_ ”

His boyfriend Stan attached his mouth to his sac again, earning a hiss from him. Very carefully, Craig's fingers grazed by the feathery fringe by his ear. The young man who knelt tried not to get lost too, feeling him pet his head and his hair being dragged by his long fingers. Craig grinned at the cool tinted screen that is capturing Stan on video, before letting out another airy moan, “ _Fuck_ , nevermind.”

“Look pretty for the camera, babe,” Craig crooned.

Another suction and muffled sound from the boy.

Not even a bat of an eyelash or a curse from Stan. This wouldn't be the first time he'd done anything lewd in front of a phone or camera's lens. At first, he reacted furiously and made a huge deal about it, but now he's even more devoted and enthusiastic to put on a show more than his past self would imagine. The more unusual part is, Stan orchestrated more than half of these _homemade videos,_ prior to their serious relationship, and he wasn't a stranger to sending dick pics and nude selfies either. Incredibly passionate by nature, Stanley always had a way of going all the way for the one he loves, even if some of it can be dangerous and questionable.

This wasn't anything like he had with Wendy, though. Or any of the nameless girlfriends he had after – or should he say, “beards”. Craig was so much different than them. Not because he was a guy or anything, and he had an improper crush on him in the eighth grade.

Craig never forced Stan out of his comfort zone and made him do stuff that he didn't want to do. For the first time in Stan's life, he wasn't a puppet for any imagery or a product of peer pressure. It was since middle school, he even discovered he is bi. Frighteningly so,  _more gay_. Kyle and Kenny had been so supportive of him when he came out to them. The other half of South Park declared they always knew it.

Provided that Stan kept it under wraps for a very long time, Craig Tucker had been a come and go crush for him. Craig would never know about Stan watching him change in the locker room, or that those stolen glances, that weren't all for nothing and later became  _very intentional_. From childhood rivals to platonic allies. That had been the start of something, that blossomed into something much more. Until one fateful January, a kiss changed everything. Rather more shockingly, Craig was the one who initiated it. Or maybe he kissed first? Who knows? He forgot.

And right now, he is humming against his cock.

Stan's feelings were so strong for Craig. Yes, he would risk extreme humiliation to satisfy the guy. But that was a decision he had made on his own. And not to say, he's always been desperate in his romantic pursuits. That will never change. With Craig, everything just felt more real – _so right_ – and it wasn't like he's a complete whore or anything to be videotaping himself. There wasn't really a groundbreaking reason why he does it. Maybe it was simply the fact that he loved him dearly. Plain and easy. Or, a part of that could be that arrogant “attention whore jock” mentality Craig became too accustomed of accusing Stan of having. Which was okay, and phased Stan less and less daily, because he knew Craig loved it when he showed off and gets nasty for him. Even if he gets fussy and doesn't admit it.

Over the years, getting off to Craig had been too easy. Specifically, he liked it so much, they have countless dirty folders of him masturbating or finger fucking himself. There was a magic to it – there had just been something about being watched, that is a major turn-on for Stan.

Craig is such a great director and Stan really didn't mind it at all. The camera loved him, and it'd be all for him too. If there were times Stan's flashed Craig, or sent videos of himself jerking off furiously to the memory of his presence, then he's glad it's him. It wasn't like he is full of himself or anything.

Maybe deep down, he just loved reminding him of what he has. didn't flinch at the sound of the catchy ringtone going off in Craig's hand at all. His free hand reached for it again, and of course, the asshole answered. With a gleam of defiance, the male's striking blues challenged his steel green ones after their eyes lock again. This time, Stan didn't tear away from him to complain, instead, he engulfed his length completely and slurped him loudly.

Craig almost exposed himself with a sharp gasp and his sweaty palm slipped from the counter. Heart pounding, he nearly lost balance. Boxers slanted down to his calves, he casts a petrified glance at Stan, which of course morphed into a death glare when he sees him smile around his cock and he kept going.

“What's that?” Clyde called from the other receiver.

Craig blanched. He tried to ease Stan off a bit, but his hands slipped from his shirt.

It would be like moving a boulder. The jock didn't budge and his mouth stayed attached to him.

“Stan... he's... baking cookies or some shit,” Craig replied lamely.

Too close. Craig almost gave himself away, breathing too fucking hard.Stan's hands skim over his knees and thighs once more, while he pulled his shaft even further in his mouth. The noiret fidgeted a bit. He wanted to put his phone down. Tentative fingers wrapped behind the base of his boyfriend's skull and he steadied him.

“ _Mmmh,_ ” Another wet sound stuck out.

“Oh.” There was a brief pause.

Clyde's voice rose a bit. “Hey, is that a blowjob I hear?”

A quick learner throughout childhood, the brown-eyed brunet paused momentarily for his best friend to respond, leaning in and gazing out peculiarly from his window from the other side with his feet propped up on a maplewood desk.

Indifferent as ever, Craig approached the accusation with a, “Nope.”

“So Token got that one place rented,” his best friend breathed into the receiver, busying himself with other thoughts. It sounded like paper being flipped in the back, a flip of a magazine page. “It's gonna be spectacular. I know you and Stan are gonna crash early, but I'm telling ya man, it's so beautiful.”

Another breath hitched in Craig's throat and he wriggled in the guy's locked grip. Palm over the receiver, Craig grit his teeth. His mouth held open while he looked down, “Would you let me finish this for just a minute?” He glared and mumbled that to Stan.

A middle finger came up again and he increased the pace, slurping him loudly. Within seconds, Craig began twisting and gasping over him already. His hips shot up and he twitched before having another spasm.

“ _Oh my god.”_

Clyde agreed, “I know right?”

This must have been more important because Craig ended up frantically thumbing the interface before hanging up on his best bro.

Giving his thigh a firm smack, Stan drew back and gasped for much needed air.

Stan gagged after the grand, final slam of Craig's hips, feeling the head of his endowment brush against the back of his throat and leaped from his chin. He really felt the roots of his hair being tugged at when his head had been roughly guided backwards and he craned his neck upwards. He had the nerve to shoot Craig a cocky and devilish grin while the male over him whispered a warning before a hot jet of come oozed from the head of his cock. His breath trembled with the additional sigh he gave.

Eleven spurts. Not that Craig has been counting or anything. It'd be a new record he tallied in his mind. The opaque texture dripped from teen's chin, onto the floor. The lens panned over at him again in Craig's hand. Stan flashed his painted face and white tongue at the camera showing that he caught it all.

The footage caught the taller boy coaxing the last of his orgasm out, splashing his nose and cheek with slick and furious pumps. The wet noises only spurred him on more. Craig's eager companion swallowed every last bit that dribbled from his mouth. Prior to the slutty grin spreading on Stan's face, Craig raised his middle finger at him again for his phone to capture.

Ragged panting, and Craig sunk to the floor cabinets next to his blue-eyed partner, while he is seated back against the wall. The aftershock of what just happened, still taking its full effect when Craig shivered and dragged his clean hand through obsidian locks. He tugged his hat down and pulled his boxers on afterward and switched off the bathroom lights. The camera panned to a pile of clothes and he ended the video.

Each of them didn't mind that a stretch of silence encased them at all. Stan had to control his smile again. Never in a million years, he would imagine that he'd be giving oral to a guy. Let alone, Mother Fucker Craig Tucker.

The towel he used on his face was discarded to the straw woven hamper across from them. They turned around to face each other and pooched their lips cutely at each other before they connect to a brief kiss. Essentially, duck lips. That had been one of the things they had made fun of other people doing - but each had secretly remembered they are both complete hypocrites, and with any stupid fad a couple does, they think they can do it better. The duo backed away from each other slowly, eyes closed and mouths still puckered as if they were savoring the moment.

Settled in his spot after, a spent Craig grinned slightly even though his lips didn't move.

Facing Stan, he sighed. “Thanks, babe.”

“Yeah,” Stan plucked at his newly stained shirt. “You kind of owe me one now.”

“You can get one of my shirts from the closet,” the noiret suggested. He planted a kiss on his cheek. “I'll do your laundry tomorrow.”

This was answered with a soft, “Huh?” The blush deepens in the football player's face.

Stan raised his sapphire eyes timidly from the bulge in his pants and then back at him, totally oblivious to the sharp gaze the other male is giving him. blinked, gazing up at Craig expectantly, “No, I mean...” _Handjob?_ _Suck me off? At least be grateful I wore that stupid tie at that backyard party._ He voiced all of that in his head. 

His sentence was cut short when Craig seized him and their lips collided again. Almost so fast it'd been like a snake attacking a rabbit. The ring-shaped towel hanger vibrated with a  _thump_  when his back hit the wall. Stan had had his shirt twisted in his fists, being submerged into a deep, hot, open-mouthed kisses. He responded back scorchingly, surging forward kissing back heavily while Craig pulled the distracting article of clothing over his head and tossed it behind his back. He then attacked and pursued him again, crushing his lips to his.

A ghost of a sound is extracted young man's mouth in the form of a moan when Craig caught his bottom lip with his teeth and bit down hard. This elicits the cutest hiss from Stan and they collapsed on a pile of thrashing limbs. Slumped to the ground, Stan threw his head back and moaned. A showy grin and the sporty boy wagged his tongue suggestively at the gap between them, feeling his jeans and boxers scrunched in his hands and bunch over his thighs. His ego and cock inflated with each tug.

“Quit that,” Craig ordered.

He had the sense to suppress the upcoming flush on his face when Stan did those ridiculous tricks with his tongue. Stan was always the more lewd of the two. Though, what Craig said might have been a lost cause. He would be just as guilty at sending racy subliminals while their friends' backs were turned.

Argumentatively, Craig had never been with anyone like this before, but with Stan, it had been easier to fall into the trap of being a filthy boy. Because, well, that's what the fuck Stan is. A filthy, fervent, shameless, and desperate boy – that he'd fuck the shit out of if he didn't come so damn hard too soon.

Mute green irises heavy with lust, open and rake over the contour of his lover's body. Sometimes Stan didn't even have to do anything to make him hate him. The perfect way his biceps and triceps bunch effortlessly and how his flat stomach muscles rippled underneath his smooth skin. Shit like that. It wasn't fair. Craig absolutely detested how those cut abs clenched gently in front of him and made him tingle inside like how those retarded girls that salivated over their _One Direction_ posters.

Their bodies were so different, Craig had to double-take and make a comparison. Stan was 5'9, well-trained, sleek, and toned in the right places. And well, Craig. He had the body of a nineteen-year-old. Maybe slightly above average. 6'3, tall and lean physique. Even though he had an impressive abdominal region himself, his abs weren't nearly as defined as Stan's. Although he didn't really care about the details of that too much, he's still  _getting dick_  in the end.

And speaking of dicks. There appeared to be one right there, jutting right in front of Craig's chin. Thick, sinewy, and flowing with sweltering heat, the engorged instrument twitched alive from a thatch of black hair. The angry wet head leaped in clear view. Thick and virile. Another sizzling moan from the quarterback and he broke out of his daze.

Taking his time, Craig lets one hand wander down the tautness of his chest. He brought himself up to Stan and closed his mouth around a hard nipple, biting it and lavishing it with his tongue. With his other hand, he pinched and twists his other one.

Stan moaned, his lips peeled backward and he sighed. “Lower.”

In different patterns, Craig placed his mouth on his chest and stomach, sucked, and bit him brutally. Loud and supplementary moans rumbled from his captive's chest. Bony wrists pinned to the floor, Stan bucked his hips impatiently as the male in his boxers straddled him from above.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” he growled in agitation, tilting his pelvis up. “Will you quit playing around down there and suck me off already?”

Craig narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Then get off then and let me fuck you.”

There was that unique rawness in Stan's vocals that made something flutter inside him. Even though he had been one of the veteran gays amongst his group of friends, Craig couldn't help but scowl inwardly at how much he actually enjoyed fagging out to Stan Marsh. Never in his life, he'd ever picture himself letting the other male touch him, or tell him what to do. Yet, here he is, right now.

Within his reach, after fully exposing himself, and ready to deliver. Very nonchalantly, the stoic teenager halfway obliged, hooking his thumbs through the elastic material of his underwear and slid them down his legs again. Craig kicked them behind him and walked forward.

“I'll do it... if you touch yourself,” Craig measured the end of the first sentence more than Stan liked.

After another testy glance, Stan's gaze sharpened at him. He quickly decided he would accept this challenge. If more than anything, he got off more to getting off in front of Craig, than doing it alone. Craig watched intently while Stan started. With a hand grazing at his own cock, the fit teen with his back pressed to the wall gave it a few experimental tugs, never taking his eyes off of Craig. His thumb ran over the wet cockhead, smearing the result of his arousal down his thick shaft.

“Mmm, hear that? You've got me nice and wet here again,” the jock murmured with a silky drawl. “You like watching me get off? I bet you wish you were filming this, dude. You're so shitty at hiding it.”

Gaze still locked with his, the horny athlete ran his tongue over his top lip and gave a soundly inhale. With only their bedroom light spilling from the crack of the door, his eyes looked more pale and seductive through that inky black curtain of his bangs. It was a great contrast to his skin. 

“I didn't say you can speak while you're doing it,” a firm squeeze on his knee, the older raven haired teen gave him a stern look.

“Stop me, then,” Stan panted.

Their mouths collided again where Craig moved into the tiny space, kissing Stan deeply, before he pulled back and placed his hand over his. Eyes drifting shut, Stan accepts another sample of his lips pressed to his. In no time, he felt Craig completely take over and pumped him in agonizing upwards twists. His boyfriend's hand was already slippery from Stan wetting it.

With faces at a very close proximity, Stan moaned and bristled closer. They kissed again, and again. The pair retracts again, locking eyes under a heated gaze – and then all in one go, Craig Tucker swallowed his dick whole. Fingers curled on the ground, Stan lets out a cry. He gripped his boyfriend's hair hard while he sloppily took him further in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down his length. Spit sliding down his tongue, Craig moved up for oxygen and wiped his chin clean with his wrist.

Stan chewed the inside of his lip when he had his cock grabbed and positioned it towards his hole. He nearly tsked. All those complaints about the bathroom being too small and cramped for an easy fuck. Craig had regarded it as beneath him so many times.

Stan didn't want to appear smug to turn him off, so he held his laugh in. Coincidentally, Craig must have been thinking the same way too because he tossed him a dirty look before reminding Stan curtly, “You're bottom next time, dumbass. Just so you know.” Stan's eyes became hooded, his lips spread into a goofy grin, and he mouths 'I love you' to him.

Craig ignored his cheeks heating up.

“Shut up.”

 


	2. Show Me Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> _Stan vs Everyone_  
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In a dark bedroom, the break of daylight pierced through the cracks of a partly drawn curtain. Bathed gently in the ghostly pale glow that stretched over him, Stan snuggled into the gray duvet that was drawn closely around his body. While curled up on the mattress, he secured it tighter around him and the material caressed his chin. Rather oblivious to the extra weight that sank gracefully beside him, the young man rolled on his back and lets out a peaceful sigh, as a hand that belonged to someone else drifted over him and lay gently against his cheek. The sensation tickled Stan. Lashes pointed, his eyes fluttered halfway open. His boyfriend's lazy fingers grazed his face while he's seated next to him.

“Hey,” Craig called softly.

Blinking the tired out of his eyes, Stan rubbed an eye socket with the ball of his palm.

“Hey,” he rasped back, squinting at the light behind him. “Morning already?”

Completely comfortable in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, the other male finished caressing Stan's face and retracts his arm away from him. Craig had his thigh rested on the bedside and his barefoot touching the carpet. They stare for a moment. He'd part his lips to say something when Stan reached with his careful fingers to pull his wrist towards him.

Craig's cheeks flared a poppy red color when Stan grabbed and released his palm. He had just received a chaste kiss. The kiss-bruised lips touched his knuckles and part of that touched something deep inside. That shit fucking tingled. It made him blush even harder. The moment being a few seconds ago, Craig could actually still feel the lingering sensation of his damp lips crawling over his skin. Being hyperaware that his boyfriend had bedhead and he thought it was incredibly sexy. Stan had complimented Craig from time to time and he'd receive dirty looks for it too.

It would not only be that, too. Craig just looked so different when it was unruly and wasn't in his usual 'neatly brushed sideways' look. The feathery flyaway strands pointed to the ceiling at an angle, almost resembling a fauxhawk. He just seemed more relaxed and not so much like a conformist when he isn't obsessively making a fuss of himself in front of the mirror. Though, Stan didn't really mind that. Sucking in his lips, he would save that to laugh at again for later. Raven would always be a huge part of him. He thought Craig was hot in just about any look or hairdo he had. In a lazy manner, he pushed himself up on his elbows and offered a weak smile.

“What time is it?” Stan asked groggily.

“Six thirty.”

Replying with a groan, the noiret flopped down, shoulders meeting with the plush surface of his pillow. His inky black hair spilled messily underneath the flaps of Craig's hat, he forgot he had been wearing it all along. The boy bellowed out a small sigh and furrowed his dark eyebrows.

With a limp forearm, Stan shields his face with it, blocking the blinding spillage of the sun's white rays that attacked his vision. He squints with a grimace etched on his complexion and turned away from the light, pouring from all the wrong directions. As that would happen, Craig got up from his side to open up the curtains.

“Rise and shine, douchebag,” with a grand tone, Craig circled around to the foot of the bed before yanking the blankets completely off of Stan.

“Ah, sonuvabitch.”

“I thought you'd like that.”

Stan propped himself up leaning sideways and pulled the pillow up to his chest. He craned his neck up, looking at the door of their bedroom that's been nudged wide open.

A set of paws padded from the hallway. There was the faint jingling of a tagged collar rustling along under a fabric of fluorescent pink. Tail swishing around gently, up and down. When Craig flicked the lights on in the bathroom, an ascot wearing canine appeared and nosed the curled ruffle of the sheets.

“Here boy,” Stan cooed.

He made a kissy noise at his family pet, Sparky, still a bit fascinated by the fact that he got to bring him along after he moved out of his parents' house. Though the apartment had really been a small place for his dog to roam free, Stan really liked having him around. It really added comfort and more to the feeling 'home'. Craig also brought his guinea pig along with them, Stripe #19 – which he'd been reluctant to have Stan get for him, because of failed relationships. Though, it didn't take much for him to resist for too long and warm up to the idea of that. When his and Tweek's Stripe died, it felt like it was his first one. Right around that time, it's been really stormy for him and Stan, and it was one of those 'I need to think' phases for Craig.

Now here they are... in the present, living with each other. Neither one had seen the day. Before moving, Craig and Stan had discussed having plenty of other pets. Only for that to be shut down quickly, because they feared the rent will go up. So, that was out of the door. While the opportunity still knocked, Craig would politely decline. Even with those disgusting puppy-dog eyes, he'd receive from Stan. The silly technique would work for a bit too.  To Craig, it is just so much better surviving with what they have now. Just starting out as young adults, everything just seemed more expensive.

As for this moment, Craig would have Stan agree that they should admire other furry creatures in shops, animal shelters, and at parks. Maybe take a few more snapshots occasionally too to stick them on the refrigerator. Craig always has been eager to try out his new Canon. While scratching behind Sparky's ear, Stan imagined him adjusting the lens of that camera.

A soft 'ruff' woke him from the dizziness of his thoughts. Head swirling, his hand stopped rubbing the creature's back, when it dipped its head down and walked towards the corner of the room. Sparky loudly shook his fur while Stan threw his legs over the side of the bed, gravity daring to pull him back in. The tags beneath his dog's bandanna rustled and the young man yawned behind his hand.

At the whistle of the shower pipes behind the wall, Stan skirts around their messy mattress and walked inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After releasing the doorknob he navigates towards the toilet and flipped the seat up. Striped boxers below his waist, he began his morning ritual of emptying out his bladder. At the last trickle, Stan's eyes wandered to the ceiling half shut. Fingers curled over the top of Craig's yellow pom hat, he removed it from his shaggy hair and peeled himself from his vintage car shirt and blue boxers. The black strands on his head stood out from the webs of his fingers.

Craig bats his wet lashes in the shower. Behind the plastic curtain, the reserved gentleman continued his scrubbing motions. His short hair drenched and clinging to his brow. He focused on lathering his skin with his dark pouf, while many water droplets roll from the tip of his nose, chin, and ears. Craig continued working the frothy white lather over his chest, remaining silent when the naked male finished brushing his teeth and spitting mouthwash into the sink. Deep reflective thoughts of how he will go about the day clouded his mind, as he mechanically rinsed himself off of the soap suds.

His mood was calm, when he felt Stan lay his cheek against his back and encircled his arms securely around his torso. Warm chest flushed against Craig's back, Stan nuzzled his face into his fragrant skin some more, his hair feathering over him. Craig didn't move his head at all, but he'd seen him at the corner of his eye. It was enough to make him stop what he was doing. He closed his eyes and exhaled calmly while the moment basked and sets in between the two of them. Just a minute of not talking. Craig was always up for it. It'd be one of his favorite moments shared between them. 

“So, I might be meeting up with Clyde after class,” Leaf green irises swung up, he placed his hand over Stan's, curling his fingers inside his palm. “Token's got a Range Rover. They want me to check it out.”

Stan's blues tilt up from his boyfriend's shoulder.

“A new car?” he asked, sounding a bit croaky. “Isn't his birthday this month?”

“It's another parting gift from his family,” Craig explained. “From the looks of it, they've been really spoiling him since he left South Park. Token doesn't like the attention much, but hey, Range Rover. I'll text you when we're done. It will probably take two hours or something. We're gonna grab pizza after that.”

“Ah, I see,” Stan gave a fatigued smile, nodding sleepily against him. “I'll probably be with Kenny.” He leaned his forehead to him, his eyes still closed. “Cartman's showing us his new dorm room today after Dairy Queen. We're probably gonna get baked there or something. Hope you have fun.”

“Thanks,” Craig hung his pouf back on the wired caddy. A set of hands moved up to his chest with arms pressed to him. Enjoying the embrace becoming tighter, leaning into it. “Ha, yeah. Don't think it'd be as great, though... Without you, that is.” His eyes drift from the cracked tiles to the suds floating over the drain.

Craig allowed himself to snort at the last response, “And seriously, Eric Cartman? Wasn't he too good to go to the same college as us? Why the fuck is he here in Denver? They didn't want his ass in  _Portland_  anymore?”

“I dunno. He just said he got really bored or something.”

An upturned palm raised at the shower head. Warmth slid along Stan's forearm under the water jetting at him. After getting his face and hair soaked, Stan slicked some of the strands behind his ears after pushing them away from his eyes. It was one of those peaceful mornings when they weren't fighting over the shower head. Today, they cooperated and learned how to adjust in the cramped tub. Craig moved slightly, letting his partner reach forward to retrieve the body wash.

“Let me take care of that for you. I'll get your back, honey,” Craig offered, fingertips already wiping over his hand.

Palm dropping over his, the teal rag was handed to him. He wrung the water from the weighted cloth and started at his shoulders. After pouring another generous amount of soap on it, he wets it again rubbed foamy diagonal lines up and down his damp skin.

“Ah, feels great,” the noiret sighed. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don't even think about it.”

“I'm not doing anything,” Stan chuckled softly as the rag was squeezed again. He pressed his eyes shut again and bowed his head.

The heat from the shower felt so relaxing. Craig noticed that the bite marks he gave him on his neck are slowly fading into lighter splotches. He resumed scrubbing lower, ignoring the lithe muscles that flexed on his back and the water running down the crack of his ass. He didn't want to have sex again. Well, of course he did, but not now. They had fifteen minutes to spare, but Craig would much rather take him later on than to spoil it now.

Placing the rag away, Craig lets his hand skim Stan's side after massaging him. His attention immediately anchored to a wild purple blemish that blossomed on his hip with red flecks. With the tips of his fingers, he touched it. Stan winced slightly. Pain pinched his eyebrow, causing the other man to frown.

“I don't remember giving you that,” Craig stated in a vexed tone. Though, he could have panicked.

“It's from our last drill,” Stan dismissed, cleaning his chest and underarms. “I play sports. You've seen me with worse, babe. I wouldn't worry too much about it.”

His head dipped while the running water splashed over his neck.

“Wow. All of that for a shiny teacup on sticks, huh?”

“Uh, yeah. You mean a trophy? Dude. You didn't complain when I wore those pants for you and got us to the championships last year. They don't even look like that.”

All heated up for some apparent reason, Stan would be sure to break into a fiery rant soon. The best method for shutting up his high-strung self would be the next move Craig does soon. He had Stan's chin directed to him by his hand and he kissed him. Just a brief connect. Nothing too sensuous.

He'd been meaning to give him a quick and firm peck, but the other nineteen-year old's tongue somehow slithered inside his mouth and did a slow twist. He wasn't going to complain about it either. Stan felt Craig melt into it and they made out for a full twenty seconds. Craig pulled back, dragging the shower curtain fully open. His whole body dripping, he stepped out of the bathtub onto the mat, securing a towel around his waist.

“Get ready for tonight, babe.”

Tiny stars twinkling in his eyes, Stan's cheesy smile broadens and he reached for the shampoo next. 

 

* * *

 

Condensation and water drops. Chubby pillars attached to a clear plastic cup clung to it while the ice sloshed around in a caramel frappe. Two young men bicker at the foot of cement steps.

Thin lips separated from a drinking straw, “That doesn't count Kahl.”

“Yes it does, Cartman.”

“I'm tellin' ya. Skinny abs don't count. You gotta bulk up, brah. It's all about muscles and mass now and you'll never land any sweet bitches if you don't get off your ass, shovel down some protein bars, and do some serious ass crunches!”

“Right. Like you do, fatass?”

“Exactl–Ay! I'm not fat, I'm buff!”

“Yep, that's right. Keep explaining yourself, lardo.”

With a smug look, Kyle Broflovski pulled his pocket tee down and folded his arms before an orange arm stretched and looped around his and Cartman's shoulders. A sniff of derision is being heard across from him, which the green hat gentleman ignored.

Emerald eyes met tendrils of sandy blond. They would stew there for a moment and beam brightly at the two college kids who were going at it, was none other than Kenny McCormick. White sick mask down to his neck, there was a smattering of freckles going on at the bridge of his nose. Almost as dominant as Kyle's, but his blended in a bit more. A dazzling expression on his tanned face while he hugged both of them close to him, receiving grimaces from each side. The corners of his elbows connected to their necks, Kenny gave a lopsided grin.

“Lovely weather we're having today,” the blond mused. “Pretty spectacular, isn't it?”

Cartman's lips slanted and he rolled his eyes, “Eh. Fuck off, Kenny.”

“Now, you see that was uncalled for, fatty. What were you gentlemen discussing again?”

“Abs,” Kyle clarified, trying not to sound miffed.

“Oh,” Kenny tapped his lips with his finger. “I see.”

Just for that, it had been one of the long silences that drifted more than it was necessary. While a pair of sky blue irises that skim over each of them, Eric scrunched up his nose uncomfortably and looked away with an annoyed sound.

The same neatly combed chestnut brown hair. His complexion still held on to the bits of pudginess he maintained as a child. Still corpulent, but he's now sculpted with visible muscle, surprisingly. Rather Kyle would want to admit it or not, he really bulked up in a less grotesque way. Not to mention he's the accredited defensive lineman at the university's varsity football team. Something Cartman would never dream of doing as a child, but his hefty build sure did have its advantages. The whole football thing. It'd be more of a status and power thing for him. On most days they played, he would barely lift a finger or break a sweat. Stan would do all the work.

The sun broke out in the overcast sky and Cartman wiped his nose with his sleeve. He thought the piddling conversation was put to an end there, but then Kenny ran his mouth, “Oh yeah! I got those!”

Band-aid covered fingers wrung his hoodie up to his torso and Eric muttered 'unbelievable' in a bitter tone while stepping back and rubbing the invisible dirt off his arm.

There was light pitched tittering from a group of young women that walked past them and equally some looks of disgust from another herd of people that strode by. The glass door exits swung open and closed many steps behind them and the brunet shook his head in distaste at the washboard sleek stomach that is being displayed out in the open with a down-turned bellybutton.

Cartman gawked and pointed, “Those aren't abs, asshole!”

This earned the mama's boy a signature eyebrow waggle, revealing his teeth through a foxy grin.

“Really? Then  _what are they_?” Kenny husked.

“Not fuckin' abs!” Cartman bellowed with his balled fists. “I'm callin' the campus cops. Get outta my school! –Help! Security! Trespasser!”

Kenny chortled. Meanwhile, Kyle blinked out of his pensive gaze and rolled his eyes. If he were more in the mood he'd shove Eric, call him a jerkoff, and tell him to go fuck himself. Even for this age now, he thought his exaggerations were insensitive and ridiculous. Kenny wasn't a stray dog, he was their friend. Of course he doesn't go to college, and of course, he followed them all the way to Denver to visit them from South Park. None of that should matter. This location is where primarily most of the graduates of their class have moved onto and if he wanted to tag along with them... then, that's fucking great.

It still rubbed Kyle the wrong way how Eric Cartman could be as high and mighty as he wants, then complains about the shit stains he gets in his underwear. Kenny's laughter bubbled through the air after he got a hold of Eric's gut and gave it a merry shake. Jogging footsteps rushed behind Kyle after the stocky boy swung at him and missed. The tittering blond gripped his shoulders.

“ _Goddamnit!_ ”

Some of his frappe spilled on the asphalt. A little snort left the jew and he cachinnated, rolling his head back. At the sound of the high pitched howl, the brunet's cheeks switched from pink to magenta. He grinds his teeth at the guy. A huge part of him had been dead set on coming up with the cruelest comeback for the Kyle then and there when another familiar face emerged in the background.

Eyebrows furrowed, Cartman relinquished with a stare, mumbling curse words under his breath and sipping from his dark green straw. The male dug out his phone from his khakis. The fit of laughter in front of him almost ceased abruptly, when their dark-haired friend poked his head up between the crowd, climbing down the steps towards them.

“Stan!” Kyle hollered, instantly recognizing him.

Kenny yelled after, “Hey Stan!”

Stan waved lazily at his pals. To his right in an oversized Supreme shirt and a pair of baggy sweats, Clyde Donovan was giving him a play by play of the last game. He spoke animatedly to him, mentioning the postseason playoffs. In eight more steps, the duo finally graced towards them and Stan would have to prepare himself.

With open arms, the first thing Kenny would _not do_  is barrel into him for a huge hug. Well, that was a lie. Orange arms clutching him around his waist. He nuzzled Stan's zaffre Champion tee, sniffing the mountain spring fabric softener on it. After a stage of awkward blinking, Stan's eyes flit back and forth and he looked up at his friends, earning a head tilt from the portly one.

Stan's eyebrows winged under his split bangs and he twisted around, gripping his shoulders, “Did you just grab my ass?”

Chin again his stomach, Kenny's lips split into a gleeful smile.

“Wassup, fag?” Cartman greeted. Clyde leaned in towards Stan's ear and whispered something in it. The other footballer nodded idly and turned away from the other guys for a short while. Observing them from a sideways glance, the dents at the corners of Cartman's mouth deepen. The blond unlocked his limbs around Stan and the footballers faced the group again.

“Gonna catch up with Craig,” the brown-eyed jock waved off. “See ya later, bro.”

“Ay, ay, ay! I see you! Where do you think you're going?” The heavyset male screamed at the about-face and broad back that was turned to him. “Well fuck you too, Clyde! You better have my money!”

That screeching. It sounded like dragging nails on a chalkboard. Kyle dug a finger in his ear and tossed an irritated glance at Cartman with one eye shut. They each waved when Clyde walked off. A little while after that, Stan worked his jaw to ask about the money thing. The upcoming words had been intercepted by Kenny's liveliness. He finished buzzing around them like a happy bee and elbowed the athlete in the shoulder. Lashes fluttering upward, Stan faced him.

“So we were discussin' stuff,” Arms folded behind his head, Kenny spoke.

“Oh, what kinda stuff?” Tone gentle with a hint of curiosity, Stan answered.

“Well, Buttman was bein' a dick, sayin' our abs didn't count,” the blond jabbed at the wide figure across from them with his thumb. “Maybe we can shut him up. Show him some real ones.”

“Oh yeah?” The noiret's forehead wrinkled slightly, showing amusement when he raised his eyebrows.

Cartman lowered his voice, it droning into a dramatic sigh.“ Oh my god, Kenny. Shut up. We've already seen Stan's abs  _a million times_ ,” 

"Stan's fuckin' ripped, dude," yapped Kenny. 

Feet on the move, the four already started towards the blond's beat up Chevy. With Kenny snickering in front, they stepped around the tall shrubbery of the bricked building. A girl in a cami top holding a spiral notebook grinned at Kenny while they gait past.

“I mean... yeah, it's cool,” Stan confessed. He scooped the red straps of his backpack, hooking them under his thumbs. “I don't think I wanna lift my shirt up anymore or anything. Especially, since it'd be too embarrassing for this dickhole over here.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stan,” Cartman's shrill shout sliced through the heavy bass of a passing vehicle. “Fuckin' mattress muncher!”

Kyle glowered.

They stride past another crop of students and a few cars. Of course, Eric Cartman blasting his foghorn voice would be the norm now. From any walking distance, other students would ignore him or pretend he doesn't exist, and he would have the nerve to continue too. Kyle bit his tongue.

“At least my ass isn't sore from getting anally raped by Craig,” the double-chinned brunet waved. “Of all the gays, you settle with that bone jumper. Where is that vag, anyway? Aren't you late for your daily meat injection or something?”

“He's with Token and Clyde,” a grin unfurling after that. “Oh, and the meat injection one, classic. That was even funnier than the fiftieth time you said it,” Stan quipped. “Not that I wasn't getting piped down or anything since twelfth grade. Or maybe even before that, who knows?”

Nor shock or surprise, none of it played on his tongue. He and Craig made love several times. It wasn't a secret anymore. Still till this day, bringing that up would probably land Stan in hot water if Craig heard. At least he could say it while he's not around. Over the years Stan's gotten more lippy with it. He was always the sluttier and less discreet one. 

Kenny's tropic blues danced, catching a part of what was just said. “Can't rape the willing, numbnuts.”

“You know that's right,” Kyle pointed. Though, to his knowledge, it was more than likely that he himself is half a virgin. He canceled out most of Cartman's words out with the thoughts of punching his hefty ass across the parking lot. The violent image is quickly put to ease when he noticed that his super best friend is distracted by something else. A shoulder distance away from Kyle, Stan stared ahead.

The unpleasant words simply phased through him like an invisible cloak, when he caught Craig climbing out of Clyde's car. Token and Clyde huddle along with him, backs against the trunk. From the looks of it, they were laughing at something on Craig's phone.

Stan's pupils instantly dilated when his boyfriend looked his way, waved, and shot him a Mona Lisa smile. He had on one of those tight baseball t-shirts that showed off his lean shoulders and his chest, and wore loose jogger pants with them. They would have to be thirty feet away. Even from a distance, Stan felt a deeper urge to run his fingers through his hair right now. He already did that this morning and he misses it.

With hooded eyes Stan's attention shift back to Kyle's direction.

He noticed the change in his friend's face but did not sense the pair of hands that crept up from behind him to yank his shirt up. There was a high pitched, “Fwoop!”

“Kenny!” he gasped.

Craig was mouthing his vape pen while Clyde took notice and pointed at the Main Four's direction. The other noiret didn't lift his eyes, though. As for the not-so-serious case of 'who dunnit', Stan would be right. In a blur of orange, the sandy blond scampered beside Cartman and rests an elbow on his wide shoulder. Feeling a tad disrespected, Stan reached to pull his top down again. To his annoyance, they were all gaping at him. Their eyes bulged, practically glued to his figure.

At that moment, Stan never felt more vulnerable in the circle they stood. He didn't know what they were looking at, but he really wished they would stop. Outraged at the sight, Kyle actually leaned in so close, he could fall. Like a mother inspecting her crying injured toddler, he reached over and grabbed Stan by the hem of his shirt and raked it up to his chin with his pale hand.

“Dude!” Kyle expressed, appalled. “What the  _fuck_  did Craig do to you?”

There was an assortment of marks on the athlete's stomach and chest, in places where it looked like teeth sunk into. The three gentlemen in front of Stan would actually see indents where the molars buried questionably deep into his flesh. The mottled eggplant colored flesh with reddish dots. Or, simply put – like bruises but bigger, just with teeth. He'd see some of it on his neck, but this was becoming too ridiculous to Kyle. The whole point was to look at his abs, not the live version of someone's sick kink blog on Tumblr.

All of that would be of lesser importance now because it looked as his friend Stan needed to be tested for rabies. The marks definitely stood out over his taut skin. Kyle thought it was offensive. Though, the idea is entirely a different story for Kenny. The sight was both captivating and arousing to him. He remarked that the bites were the size of Texas. The total opposite for Kyle and very shocked in the least, the male with the red curls removed his hand from the fabric and took a step back.

“Nothing I didn't want,” Stan stated loftily. Although, he wouldn't be half as offended if they weren't all giving him the fisheye. Exasperated by it all. “What? Jesus Christ, you act like you've never seen hickeys before. You should know about that stuff. You have a girlfriend, dude.”

“Rebecca is a very respectful woman and we're very happy with taking our time,” Kyle reminded, raising his voice.

Cartman coughed, “–Liar.”

“Look. We've been standing here for almost a minute and I'd really like to try out my game,” Stan tapped the toe of his sneaker against the tar. “Can we go now?”

“No,” Kyle replied tersely. “This issue has gone around long enough. We really need to get to the bottom of this. Today.”

Lips forming into a thin line, with furrowed brows Stan raised his head up, “What issue? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“This  _sex thing_  – you have with Craig,” half whisper, half shout.

“Oooh,” Eric whooped.

Kenny dug into his hoodie pocket and jingled his keys.

“Look. I'm really happy that we're in college too Stan, and that you guys finally worked things out, but I just think a lot of the stuff you and Craig do... is a bit excessive, and should be expressed privately,” his flame colored eyebrows creased in motion with concern.

Kyle cut off him when he opened his mouth, “I'm gonna be completely honest with you. I feel like whenever we're hanging out, you're always distracted by sex. I miss it when it when we were kids. We use to chase after ice-cream trucks and do normal shit. Remember that? Like today, I really want to show you this new game I got, and it'd be really nice if you'd be more discreet with Craig and tone it down a bit.”

“We  _do_  do it in private, dude,” Stan argued. “And since when did we have a normal childhood?”

“You really want me to go there?”

“Go where?”

“Breh, he's not gonna get it,” Cartman gibed. He sipped coffee again and shook his half-empty cup. “Let me handle it, Kyle.”

Spinning gracefully to Stan's direction, the wide male cupped the footballer's shoulder with his chubby hand and steered him away in another direction. What's left of his refreshment is clutched in his right hand, and they finally make it towards the side of Kenny's Chevy. Not really paying attention, the blond made himself busy, adjusting the silver tape on his frayed seat belt.

“You gotta stop fagging out, man,” Cartman leaned in.

Stan's narrowed his eyes into diamond shaped slits, “What?”

“You gotta stop fagging out. It's  _not cool,_ ” that earned Cartman a grunt from his childhood classmate after he shrugged his hand off him.

“Okay then, bye,” Stan turned around. No motivation to snark. It was that quick.

Cartman's mouth hung open, “Hey don't walk away, asshole. I'm not done with you yet.”

“Oh, I think you said enough. In fact, you're actually the last person that I need lecturing me with any type of thing, let alone my sex life. Let's just go to Dairy Queen and see that fucking dorm already. I'm getting hungry again and all I had was an apple for breakfast, buttwipe.”

“That's not even the issue,” Kyle called loudly from the window of the passenger's seat. “You always ditch us.”

Cartman nipped at his chewed up straw, “Yeah, it's true. You guys fuck a lot.”

“No we don't. We don't have sex all the time,” the noiret deflected, sounding stiff and perturbed.

“Well, that's kind of hard not to believe, since you guys keep putting it out there,” fleered the redhead, arm hanging from the rusty truck door. He glared over at Stan's reflection from the side view mirror and his super best friend glared back at him. “And yes you do.”

“Okay, then name another time where I ditched you guys to get off then.”

“I can name  _ten,”_ Kyle grouched.

Stan's forehead creased and he spared a glance over at Kenny. From the looks of it, he had been cozying up to his warm can of Double Dew and a nudie Penthouse magazine he retrieved from his glove department.

“Alright. That's good enough for me, then. I'll just smoke at home then, fuckers.”

Indignant sigh, he didn't want to hear his friend elaborate anymore. Stan moved to the right side window and motioned with his hand to retrieve his video games back. After Kenny adjusted his sick mask, he casts a look concern to Stan and then one of disdain at Eric. Halfway in the driver's seat, with the door open, he pulled his long legs inside the vehicle, and there was unzipping of a backpack beside him.

Stan drummed his fingers against the edge of the truck door. He held a look of impatience flashing in his pupils now, which made Kyle more irate.

“Chance Miller saw Craig pee on you,” he muttered suddenly. Low pitched, still holding onto the disk with his fingers like crab pincers.

Stan nearly lost his breath. “What?”

“Last Saturday, when you said you had an injury from your last drill. You flaked out on laser tag with us, to have sex,” the scholar added. “Chance said he saw you.”

“Dude no. Stop,” Stan warned. An unpleasant rush of anger seared through him and he felt it burn through his cheeks, “Did you guys just not see that humongous black mark I got on my hip? Why the fuck would I be lying about that? All I did was sleep, lie around, and eat pizza rolls. Craig wasn't even home, he was at work.”

Kyle stuffed his hands under his underarms and glared through the window shield during the rant.

“Also, fuck that douchebag. I only have one class with him. We don't even know each other that way and he got fucking evicted. You're seriously gonna trust his word over mine?”

“Butters was there,” Kyle stated accordingly.

The noiret hesitated after placing his disc away. Kyle repeated it and added, “Butters saw it.”

“Oh my god,” An exaggerated sigh from Stan and his grip tightened on the strap of his backpack again.

Hearing what was shared Cartman guffawed, with a contemptuous draw of breath. Gripping his stomach and he crouched over, “Oh, ow!  _My tummy!_ ”

The evil cackle increased next level in volume, which was pretty unnerving to the jock.

“Just get in the truck, Stan,” his exhausted friend suggested. “We'll talk civilly about it later.”

“No. You guys can go on ahead without me. I'm tired of being the one pushed around over here. You can go have your fun,” he Stan bit out scathingly. “I've got last minute homework to do, anyway.”

“What do you need help on?” Kyle answered, his voice a bit lighter this time.

Nothing.

Stan wanted to tell him that they murdered his mood and buried it. The strap over his palm now secured tighter in his grip. The jock had been meaning to shout a petty insult before storming off. He took a step backward and felt something solid flushed against him.

In a few seconds or less, Stan's eyes were quickly obscured by a pair of hands covering them. He wanted to react impulsively and wrench himself away from the intruder, but a warm wave of familiarity sets in, while the hold on him loosened.

Head tilting upward, Stan glanced between the gaps of long fingers removed from his face. He found Craig looking down at him, a faint smile tugging on his lips. Whatever Stan had been upset about now, had been completely diminished by his presence.

The ballplayer greeted absently. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here?”

Their lips joined and separated with a small smack. Stan didn't know what was going to happen next, but Craig's eyes had been fixated on the Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse insignia since he walked over there. The other noiret wormed his way from his boyfriend's hold, causing him to receive a confused glance. His shadow increasingly becomes smaller over Cartman, when he approached him and casually knocked over his drink.

Half melted ice spilled over like an avalanche. The puddle darkened the ground. Steam practically blew out of Eric's ears when Craig had just done that. Before Cartman could tag him with a witty remark, the truck  _shook_  when he'd been violently grabbed and shoved against it.

Kenny cursed at the impact of the weight and got out of his seat. Feeling a bit touchy about his property, the philanderer of the group glowered at the ruckus that was unfolding. Kyle mumbled something and followed. He unhooked his seat belt, the door shutting behind him.

“I knew I smelled a rat,” the male in the yellow puffball hat disparaged.

“Craig, what the fuck?” Cartman coughed.

Befuddlement encroached Stan's features. His significant other just rushed Eric Cartman.

He wanted to stop it. Or, did he?

A deep reflection of the thought. There had been plenty of fights instigated by the heavy sociopath that struggled against Kenny's car door. The loose tassels of Craig's chullo hat rest over his strong shoulders when he brought his face near the culprit.

Stan would bring himself into a short minute pause and only focus himself on the sinewy muscles and the curve of the biceps stretching under Craig's sleeve. His body looked incredibly toned today, and Stan didn't mind his thoughts being flooded with the wild and vivid fantasy of being pinned against Craig's bedroom door once and being viciously taken, while his parents and sister were downstairs watching tv. How they ever got away with that, Stan didn't know. He was just a pity fuck at the time, and Craig's been very generous, despite being rough around the edges.

Strangely enough, Cartman being forced against the truck was being replaced by  _him_  in his head right now. So, watching this... Stan thought it was kind of...  _hot?_

“What the hell is going on now,” the redhead caved in.

“Yeah, what's going on?” Kenny asked.

Eric's shirt is twisted Craig's grip. Craig would avoid that hungry and confused stare he received from his boyfriend at his other end. He only half chuckled and leaned in closer, “It's a funny story, really. You guys are gonna get a kick out of this.” The bridges of his eyes sharpened and he forcefully shoved Cartman again, making the not so sturdy brunet shout out.

“Ow! Ey, knock it the fuck off, Craig!”  _Shove!_  “Craig–” grunt. “Quit it!”

The commotion rattled him. Cartman had been expecting the righteous hero Stanley Marsh to interfere and say some majestic bullshit or 'something like that', but instead the football athlete idly stood by and shoved a stick of gum inside his mouth, while his boyfriend actively pummeled him around. Cartman would hold this against Stan for weeks, but he really needed that remastered Call of Duty and that Soul Calibur game from him. It'd be the whole reason why he ever invited him to his dorm.

“What'd he do this time?” the noiret queried.

Craig brought his torso up and finally looked over at Stan, not even worrying much that Cartman wore really bad sneakers, and is practically slipping and sliding in his vice grip, “It's a good one, hon. You'll laugh.”

Stan walked closer with his hands in his pockets, “Day was kind of shitty,” he mumbled. “I could use one.”

“We can talk about it later,” Craig reassured. He turned back at Cartman and began neatening his shirt for him. “So, babe. You ever wonder why tubby over here walked around the school hallway with three whipped crème frappes per day?”

Sudden uncertainty poked at Stan, “I don't know, because he's fat?”

“This doesn't look good,” said a voice from a short distance.

While Token and Clyde were at a standby mode a few feet away, and both Kenny and Kyle trade looks at each other. There would soon be an increase in the number of people in the parking lot. This had been a scene straight out of grade school. A fight, perhaps. The other students would stop what they're doing, just to get a glimpse of it.

“How would you like it if I tell you that your little friend over her has been trading personal pictures of us for free lattes?”

“Not surprising,” Stan half commented to himself, giving himself a moment to gloss over that. “Wait a minute. What pictures, Craig?”


	3. Burnt Cinnamon

Craig's words practically tripped over his tongue, “I can't say.”

Dark eyebrows pulled upward again, “Why not?”

Stan slowed his chewing and sauntered towards the figures by the truck. Some of his untied shoelace from his converse dragged against the ground by his crinkled gum wrapper. He had forgotten to double-knot it again that time.

Over his face, a look of surprise and concern washed over it, the strong scent of spearmint fermented from his lips and burned through his nose. He couldn't fully decipher the stance and expression on Craig's face, but there is a certain look that the other male gave that told him to 'stay put'. Of course, Stan would oblige for the moment being, but he still wondered what could it have been. While stepping to them, he eased his footing, noticing that they somehow have drawn a bigger crowd around them. Another group of students corralled around them from different angles. A sure indication that things weren't okay. 

“All I heard was free coffee,” Stan said, confused. “I thought we're cool with Tweek.”

“We are,” his rival turned boyfriend admitted aloud, breaking eye contact. “At least... that's what I thought.”

“I don't get it, then,” the athlete added. “He said we're perfect for each other. So, what's the problem here?”

“There's a new app called Play'd where you can expose cheaters in it, and we're naked in it.” Craig informed, eyes roaming dangerously over Cartman, “And apparently this chromosome deficient shit sack has been exploiting us for free drinks for three years.”

Stan nearly swallowed his gum. His jaw went tight. “What?”

“Two,” corrected Cartman.  

“Soothe your boobs, Stan,” the stocky male reasoned. “So, I had a frap with Wendy, she showed us a couple of nudes in the back and deleted them. The pics are old, they're gone. You should be grateful, at least you're not ugly.”

The fierceness in Craig's glare increased.

“That should be illegal,” Kyle exacted his bitterness under his breath, appalled by the mention of the app. 

“Illegal or good pay,  _Kyel?”_ Cartman emphasized. Not really having to look at him this time. He knew those emerald eyes on that ridiculously spotted face are rolling at him right now and judging the shit out of him. “You know you and Craig could be making real money, right? All of that fucking you guys do.”

He glanced up at the quarterback's constricted pupils.

“He's not interested,” a voice of disapproval rang over Cartman's head.

“I didn't ask you,  _Craig_.”

Again, the brunet insists.   

“I'm just sayin'. Dude, have you even seen your own dick? There are plenty of loaded old guys that run that site who'd be willing to pay  _real cash_  for quality jizz like that,” Cartman explained to Stan, meeting his shocked gaze. “Wendy didn't even pull up the one of you tugging it in the bath, so it's cool. Just jerk off a little, upload a few of that, and we can share a few grand. You're not even fully naked in there, it's just you in a lame Santa hat, sucking on a gay ass candy cane. She even used those big eggplants and flustered emojis to cover you up. It's not like the whole world hasn't seen your balls anyways.” 

Craig's cheeks burned. “You just told Token that there are gifs!” he barked. “Nobody's selling attachments of my boyfriend, and getting away with it! If you guys got any dirt on me too, then let me find out, so I can bust your face in!”

“And get expelled from the campus,” Cartman's eyes crinkled as he squinted. He lowered his vocals with a derisive tone, craning his thick neck upward. “Sounds like a pretty smart move, Craig. We all know what happened since your last violation a year ago,” narrowing his eyes some more. “Or would you like to double the penalty this year?”

“He's bluffing,” shouted Clyde. Balled fists and voice raised. 

The audience thickened and a swirl of voices emanate around them.

“So, my dick's all over the internet again, what else is new?” Stan said, suddenly depressed. “You guys, we've already went through this already. Why are we digging it up in Denver?”

“ _Because_...”

Surely, Cartman should have known better, but that didn't stop his scheming copper irises from drifting further down the hem of Stan's shirt, resting above his groin. Interest and disgust automatically shadowed Cartman's features. He could barely make out bulge of his package, but there it is. Nice and hard, pushing and kneading against the center of his long cargo shorts. Remembering what got him there in the first place, Eric's grimace tightened.

“Tell ya what, Stan. Get your dildo off of me and maybe I'll let you in on a little deal.”

“Dude, fuck you!” thundered the noiret. “You just said you shared naked pictures of me with Wendy. How does that even happen? She hates you. You can seriously get bitten by a rattlesnake or die in a pit after this for all I care. If I get fired from work again because of this, you're dead to me.”

“Stan,” Cartman grumbled, the heat growing on his face from his neck again. “You're  _not listening_.”

The muscular dystrophy thing, hardly a joke to the conservative attired brunet. Cartman still struggles with it until this day. He wasn't going to explain it to Stan anymore, or has his slimy friend forgotten? More so, his anger had been skyrocketing as well, since Craig is hurting him and Stan hasn't put a stop to it. It didn't matter if he got along with his boyfriend or not, he was being  _fucking attacked_. And by that, it earned the sporty boy a vehement outcry of sorts. 

“What the fuck?!” the brunet squawked, completely knocked out of his state of thinking. Still glaring at the ridge in the noiret's pants before lifting his eyes up. “Are you actually getting off to this?”

Another jolt of anger spiked Craig. He really wanted to dunk Cartman after that. Not being as nearly as territorial or possessive as his noisier other half, but the public indication of his boyfriend's hard-on had really ignited something in him. That made him furious. Whatever business that went on in Stan's pants, it was  _all his_. Other people shouldn't know about it, he didn't want them looking at it. There had to be at least twenty people and counting in the crowd now.

To be scrutinized for something that's completely natural to him, Stan gravitated towards them more with his fists in his loose pockets. With a light scoff, he gave an unapologetic glare and loosened his fingers.

No one had realized this, but the whole time they were fighting, Stan had gone through another unpleasant trip down memory lane. Pegged by the horrific images of Wendy, his girlfriend at the time, whom he trusted so much... whom he sent racy attachments and sext messages to. The ones that she swore up and down, that she said she deleted. As for all of the traumas, guessing from here, this would be his fifth Vietnam. He stopped keeping track of those a long time ago.

The anxiety written all over Stan's face jarred Craig out of his deep thinking. While the sight of the scene grew more problematic, this wouldn't be the first or last public confrontation for any South Parker has ever dealt with, either. A scene common amongst any catastrophe they've received, there would at least be a group of four or five bearing witnesses to their calamity - if it's not usually the whole town.  

Only a few steps away now, the footballer's knuckles turned white when he dug his fingers into his palms. There would be that uneasy feeling again, but Stan's eyes equally glint with a heavy demand. The pictures are old news, but he wanted to be mad, and being a former victim of revenge porn, this was no laughing matter to him. Stan seized his rampant thoughts again, allowing himself to breathed and be forced to the present.

“That's actually not funny,” the young adult remarked darkly, facing Craig. Stan's lips formed into a watery line. “You told me it's going to be a good one. I'm not laughing.”

A major kick in the gut, Craig could sense a hint of pain in that angry voice.

Thoroughly dissatisfied that he hasn't knocked the lights out of Eric Cartman yet, he spun away from Stan's direction and faced him again. The brunet's simper quickly faded when he noticed that hostile green torch burning in Craig's eyes again. Staring back with murderous intent, Craig lunged towards Cartman and swings.

“Fuck him up, Craig!” Clyde screamed a distance ahead of them. “Kick him in the dick!  _Drag him!_ ”

“ _Fuck you,_  Clyde!”

The crowd went wild. Craig’s knuckles barely grazed his chin and then after that pools of Cartman's eyes widen when he had been hooked like a sandbag with before he collapsed to the ground. Weighing over 300 lbs, he thought he had a bit of an advantage – at least a little bit after grade school. Somehow, he calculated that all wrong.

“Not so great of a linebacker now, are you?” Craig insulted.

All the students that bared witness howled when the brunet was tossed, and of course, Kyle's whoop was the loudest. That happened a little bit after he uttered  _holy shit_. Unable to celebrate for his friend completely, the wicked grin plastered on Clyde's vanished when he noticed the chatter of attractive girls behind him. Two blondes.

“These are the freshmen from South Park?” A blonde wearing a body-hugging pastel dress scoffed in disdain.

“Ew. What a bunch of neanderthals! You'd think they learned as seniors already not to pick fights in a public parking lot. What the fuck are they doing?” the other woman scoffed.

The first one crossed her arms, “What did you expect from people who lived in the middle of nowhere, Lexi? They say you can move a hick out of town, but...”

 _Ohh, Lexi,_  with glazed over eyes Clyde chimed in his mind, interested. However, she did not feel the same. Each girl gave Clyde a dirty scowl. 

“Losing points here, bro,” Shaky breath, Clyde muttered that to his dark complexion friend just now, swallowing his next words. All at the same time, he's suddenly embarrassed and sweating bullets now. He really hoped that he could make up for being uncouth without resorting to a funny punchline or a wise quote he read off of his Facebook feed. From the looks of it, he doesn't have to. More than a few steps ahead of him, Token sprints towards the two figures and locked his arms around Craig's torso before he launched his fists at Cartman. Craig barely missed stepping on Cartman. To save face, Clyde rushed in and tackled his best friend.

Token spoke waveringly while Craig breathed hot air through his nose, “Dude, chill. You're not getting kicked out of school yet. There'll be plenty of times where we can handle that. Right now, this isn't the place to do it, man. Don't sink to his level. We need you.”

“He's not worth it,” Clyde reprimanded.

“Let me go,” Craig demanded with his friends' arms linked around his, “I know what you guys are doing. I just wanna talk to him.”

“Nope, no can do. The last time you said that you ended up in the back of a police car for breaking that Wilson kid's jaw. Don't even try to correct me on this one, you still need to last long enough to see my Range Rover today,” explained Token.

“Yeah, let's save the real violence for the party. If he shows up, that is,” with half-lidded eyes Clyde rose up to support Craig. Reaching up, he placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down some more. Kenny and Kyle each trade looks again and Stan pulled his eyes from the ground.

“Whoa, let's not get carried away now. I never said I invited him,” mumbled Token. “Craig, relax.”

“Welp, that got boring fast,” a fraternity member with a bowl cut stated. His hair is golden lemon shade and his voice sounded flighty, despite what just transpired seconds ago. Cartman's gaze broke away from staring at the crusted mud on Kenny's tires. Instantly recognizing their former elementary school classmate, he flipped him off, tilting his body to the side. 

“Shut up, Bradley! Your sister's a fat bitch!” Cartman dropped his hand and rested his wrists on his bent knees.

“Oh well,” Bradley glared, searching for something new to say. “At least I didn't bang her, thunder cunt!” the student pardoned himself with a small gesture before walking away. While beaming proudly at how swift his comeback is, Bradley Biggle swung his arms leisurely. Now taking a few strides, that morphed into a slight jog. Bradley broke into a dash and then bolted out into a distance.

“You're fat too, blubber guts!” Bradley screamed. 

Hands in his pockets, Stan navigated past Cartman when he muttered 'dick' under his breath. He reached up and rested his cool palms over his boyfriend's cheeks, the joints of his fingers nestle underneath the flaps of his hat. The red tinge on Craig's face had reduced to a few shades and then a faint one. He bowed his head down slowly to Stan, so they could lock eyes better with him.

Cartman rubbed his ass, complaining. “What are you doing now?” 

“Do you mind?” Craig glared.

“Just give us a moment,” Stan averted his focus away from him. They spoke at the same time, really after that, he didn't want to talk to Cartman at all. Both replied technically in unison. Almost. Craig's voice overlapped his a bit more, while he felt his cheeks being held. He closed his eyes, ignoring the loud truck horn being aggressively honked next to him. The last beep extends from a hand prolonged pressed against it.   

“Let's go already! I'm hungry!” Kenny muffle-yelled through his mask. The yell ended in a grunt after his stomach growled for the sixth time. Granted, he's been waiting all morning too, to eat something. He didn't want the fight to stretch any longer, to miss out on his burger and ice-cream.

Craig leaned in and whispered something into Stan's ear.

“I swear to god, I'll be so happy when you fags are dead,” Cartman muttered with a venom dripping from him, picking his body up from the ground. Both of his dirtied palms wiped over his pants and tiny pebbles dropping from it, he smeared some blood from his wounded finger onto the creased fabric of his shirt. 

Stan's eyebrow's pinched, feeling Craig's warm damp lips press against his forehead.

“Good work, Cartman,” Kyle remarked. “Bet you won't try that again.”

“Eh.”

Craig, Token, and Clyde glared towards an injured Cartman who's holding his arm. 

“Stan, you still comin'?” a certain blond had a hopeful look in his eyes. Beside the green-hatted boy, Kenny just asked that. There was a wave of decline from his sporty friend, that zapped some of the good energy out of him. 

The back door of the 4x4 shuts loudly when the cranky brunet climbed in. He avoided the Jew's look from the passenger's seat entirely from the front view mirror. Digging his hand into his pocket, Cartman distracted himself with a game on his large phone. There would still be open-ended questions that are left unanswered, but for now, he just really wanted to get out of there.

With a bummed look, Stan hooked his pinkie beneath Craig's fingers and lead him further away from the guys to talk. They faced Token and Clyde. The two nod at the couple and they bid their farewells at them.

**STAN**

**Today 11:56 am**

_{ gonna crash in today sorry }_

**Today 11:58 am**

_{Are you absolutely sure about this? }_

Cursor blinking in his text box, Kyle waited for a response. Glancing at the blue bubble on his screen, his eyebrows furrowed again. He could really use something to bump his head against now. The same distraught expression tainted Kenny's complexion when he learned of his forwarded message. Crushed completely, he vented a small sigh.

“We're still goin' right?” Kyle asked Kenny, pocketing his phone.

The male in orange hoodie nodded hesitantly, “Yeah.” 

“Talk about a great way to end a semester. _Now I_   _feel like shit.”_

“I wouldn't think too much about it, Kahl,” Fake optimism brewing with an indifferent shrug. Joining that, was the sound of an air compressed bag being opened and an artificial cheesy smell floating over the air. The incorrigible one of the group began munching loudly on a snack in the back seat. “I'm sure Stan'll come around. Once he figures out how remarkable the porn biz is.”

“Will you just shut up?!”

  ~~~~

* * *

 

Squeaky noises from a floor above. 

Soft sapphire irises lift up at the cracked ceiling.

“You didn't have to walk me home, Craig,” Stan pressed his back against a warm torso. 

Seated on the carpeted floor of their small living room, he sat between his boyfriend's legs beside the oval glass coffee table, with nothing but a few items on it. Cigarettes, lighter, phone, remote.  Already calling it quits for the day, Stan put on a pair of red flannel pajama pants and a charcoal colored hoodie that was fresh from the dryer. The jock had intended to lay low for the rest of the day and the evening. Sulk a little and play video games. His whole mind entirely made up after the quick skirmish that happened previously.

Friendship activities brushed aside for now, Craig chose to join up with Stan willingly to help him feel better with things. A Linkin Park tribute broadcasts on television in front of them. The last commercial fades to the  _One Step Closer_  music video. The older boy slouched over Stan, circling his arms around his waist. Craig’s chin burrowed in the hollow part of his neck.

“I'm your boyfriend. Of course I have to,” said Craig. 

“Well, I know that. Just don't do it so much you'll get tired of it. That's all,” Stan answered, shifting gently in his spot. “Thanks for that, by the way. You were really protective of me out there and stuff. Thought that was pretty cool. I could've handled it myself, though.”

Craig necked him lazily while he pointed that out.

“Thank Token and Clyde for me. If they weren't for them, that tub of lard's picture would be in milk cartons by now.”

“No, don’t kill him. I wanted to kick his ass too,” Stan mumbled, turning down the volume on their TV. “It's not like you can just get rid of him, anyway. He's actually a pretty cool person to hang out with when he's not like that.”

Craig sucked more purple marks over the old ones on Stan's neck.

“Yeah. He won't change,” frowning against his skin.

Tactfully deciding to put things behind, Craig dissolved the hanging words with a new and lesser topic. “You taste really good today. Not brackish at all, from all that football shit.”

“Well gee babe, that's never stopped you before,” Stan waved off with a glare. “Butthole.”

“It's not nice to insult your boyfriend,” chided the green-eyed noiret, sucking over his clavicle.

Just a moment to reorganize his thoughts with his s/o. Stan's heart isn't beating as rapidly anymore, but he is still furious about what happened. With that said, Stan is really enjoying it. He flexed his fingers gently, brushing his fingers underneath Craig's hat. Finally, some privacy again, after all that occurred. At least, this wouldn't be too bad. Getting home to Craig always took longer than Stan had wanted during the weekdays, and while missing him he would get incredibly pouty. A dour beginning for the day, but at least he had Craig to himself again.

“ _Mmm,_  that's the spot,” Stan approved with a croon.

“Oh yeah?” 

Stan licked his lips, “Yeah.”

That was all he could say. At the same time, this whole  _Aha, I didn't forget about that parking lot boner_  thing they talked about during their walk to the apartment, is slowly catching up to them. But this time, Craig wasn't as upset with it. The way that Craig defended him that morning, there was something about it that Stan thought was very irresistible. It was nice that someone wanted to fight for him for once. Though many times Craig told him to get used to it. Some of the anger from that porn app mentioned from earlier dissolved when a pair of lips descended to his. Stan puts the remote down on the couch cushion behind them. Mind becoming foggy, he permits this.

Stan craned his neck for Craig, allowing more access for his lips to travel over his skin. He moaned under him, really enjoying being tasted and nibbled on. Stan swallowed a bit, and a small sigh left him. His boyfriend tugged his ear with his mouth. A hand smoothed over Stan's stomach, drifting lower to the drawstrings of his pants. Craig's eyes flew open when he sensed his wrist being pulled. Half-lidded gaze, Stan stopped him.

“Craig, let's head back,” Stan said, sultrily gazing at him with his darkened pupils.

More than right now, he really needed to  _feel_  something – _other than sadness, hunger, and boredom._

From childhood, he battled early on with his depression and alcoholism. The habit of drinking he shunted aside, much later on. It was quickly replaced as he transitioned to his adolescence phase. A bigger appetite for food and higher libido did that. Stan would still save a drink or two for an emergency, but the joy of sex quickly overshadowed it. 

While Stan would think of a way to convince Craig to make out with him, before he heads out with his friends again, the phlegmatic teenager already caught on to that.

The more reserved one of the two rocked sideways, knocking them both to the floor. Craig crashed his lips to Stan's again. His tongue plunged, roamed, and pried deep in his oral receptor while their tangled bodies hit the ground. Gaining some rhythm, Craig slowly ground his hips against Stan. Already panting, low moans register from him and he slid his fingers in between Stan's, raising his hands over his head.

A series of grinding segued between them. With their mouths connected again, Craig dragged himself against Stan with a bit more force. His hardness had been no match for the thin joggers. He whispered breathily over his head, “Feel that?”

Stan massaged the shape of his cock, digging his fingers over the deep outline, “Jesus, you're really hard.”

The other male nodded feverishly at him. He swept his tongue over to his lips, pulling him into another deep and long kiss. Once their mouths separated, the blue-eyed gentleman threw his head back and panted while a pattern of hot kisses scourged his skin with more hickeys. Mouth attached to him, Craig trailed more up his collarbone, to his black stud earring. Between his lips, he took his ear in and bit down gently. He lets go of his Stan's hands. It wasn't long after that Craig went back to business and attacked with more hungry open-mouthed kisses.

Stan dug his fingers into his clothed ass. Their bodies gyrated while being pressed tightly together. A whimper broke from Stan, while his thighs were being clutched after hands slid around him. While Craig kissed down his jaw, he thought there is no way they're going to do it on the couch again.

“ _Room,”_ Stan growled. “Now.”

The request laid stagnant in the air and took a bit for Craig to recuperate before he registered that. He finally got up to make the move. On that note, Stan was scooped up into his arms. Being deep enough in their relationship for roles not to bother him anymore, the sports player wrapped his legs securely around his boyfriend's waist as Craig walked towards their bedroom. 

Lithe but muscular in all the right places underneath his baggy pajamas, Stan was still light enough for Craig to pull off the ground. His back nudged partially shut door open while Craig's dominant tongue worked its way deeper inside his mouth. There were traces of orange juice and the faint salt of his tears in Stan's mouth. The second part, he didn't like so much.

Stepping forward, Craig punted his running sneakers off. He regarded his flame with a scorching look. Stan eased himself on the floor again with his hand placed on the back of Craig's neck, pulling him down to him and opening his mouth. Their kiss grew heavier and messier while the back of his knees touches the bed. Clear spit dripped from the corners of their mouths, as their tongues slide against each other's.

His own tee riding up his flat stomach, Stan webbed his fingers through Craig's black hair, and they stumbled clumsily over the neatly stitched comforter with a light bounce. His breathing hitching when his former foe firmly gripped his hips and pulled his body to him. Several wet bites over his leg and thigh. At the drawstring of his bottoms becoming loose, Stan smiled weakly at Craig. Violent yanks as his boxers and pants are being removed, Stan lifted his hips for him to discard them on the floor. Both his feet settle to the ground while his legs hung over the queen-sized bed.

The stoic teenager knelt in between his thighs while he positioned his hands over Stan's knees, spreading them further apart. Without anything left to restrict it, Stan's cock leaped near Craig's face. Through a thatch of wiry black hair, it was even juicier and mouthwatering than he remembered. Though Craig has seen it almost daily by now and every detail of it burned into his skull, he couldn't help be still get excited being up close and personal with it. 

Something close to _God, I love being gay_  manifested in his mind while he mitigated his troublesome half-smile before going down again.

Stan's entire focus on Craig went blurry when he felt his lips wrap around the head of his cock. As his finger's curled around the base it of it, and the other dug into his pants, he flattened his tongue underneath it while his lips pulled back and forth over it. The heady aroma of Stan's arousal nearly made him dizzy. Going down on him, Craig decided he was going to savor his unique taste. As if he had all the time in the world, he bobbed his head slowly against him and hummed. A hint of fresh linen and pre-cum intermingled with his taste buds while he moved his tongue. 

“Mmm...” Trailing off breathlessly. “Such a great cocksucker...”

Joggers stretched to his thighs, Craig inched closer while his heavy phallus fell on his hand. He sank gracefully to his knees, leisurely stroking Stan's cock and his own, as he mouthed the juicy head.  A beautiful sight to behold for him after he drew back for oxygen. More clear substance dripped from the slit of his Stan’s cockhead and Craig flicked it and spirals it with the tip of his tongue before sipping it. 

“Dude, are you stealing my moves again?” Stan half-moaned.

Somehow, he remembered the insanely weird competitions that took place in between them. Dick sucking is one of them. He already lost the bet at who fucks better ages ago. Oddly enough, this became a constant theme.

Accompanying the flat green eyes lifting below his dark lashes, Craig lips pooched around the mushroom tip. Letting go of himself, he replied with the best 'Fuck You' he could give. A single middle finger raised for the usage of the word  _dude_. Without delay, Craig ran his tongue over the vein beneath his prick before placing his mouth over it. Butterfly kisses from the base to the tip, Craig brought his face back up and multi-tasked with his hand again, pumping his long shaft. Their cocks being tugged in both his fists, Craig surged forward and spat on the thick organ in front of him, lubricating it more. Stan chewed the inside of his lip, relishing the palm moving against his swollen flesh – and  _that mouth_.

“Holy fuck, babe... your throat is so tight.”

He moved his hips rhythmically against the jerking of Craig's hand. Stan's breathing becomes more rapid when his dick slid back and forth in his fist at an increased speed. More moans of approval from him. Thigh being pushed down, his thrusting was steadied. Craig's tight lips circled around his length again. The tempo gradually gaining while he bobbed his head up and down and his hat wrinkled underneath both Stan's palms. Nearly almost every inch of him is pushed to the back of Craig's throat. The older teen engulfed him voraciously with a burgeoning speed. Until globs of his saliva darken the bed sheets, Craig continues to deep throat him. He multi-tasked, slicking Stan's member back and forth in furious pumps with own fist.

Stan gripped the blankets above him and trembled, “Don't make me come yet.”   

A victory smirk broke in his face when heard a suppressed a gag. Knelt on one knee, Craig shortly plotted his revenge while he roughly wiped his chin with the back of his arm. With a razor sharp glare, he jerked Stan's arm and flipped him over the bed before he's lashed with a witty remark.

Cheek digging into the comforter, Stan hissed loudly at the pain. Before he could jerk his head up, Craig grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved him back down again.

“Stay still,” Craig ordered, glaring at the body that was naked from the waist down in front of him. Stan protested and wiggled against him, knowing that it drives him nuts when he did that.

Laughter against the folds of the blankets, the jock smirked impishly, “Nah, I think I like messin' with ya. Fuck you, babe.”

What he didn't expect was the tight grip on his arm being released so soon. The other hand is still pressed over his head.

“What's that? You don't want me to fuck you?”

“Huh?”

Horror sliced through Stan, thinking the male above him misheard his remark, “No. That's  _not_  what I said.”

“Oh, but that's exactly what you said,” Craig said.

“No it isn't,” He wasn't going to explain himself. To the point of frustration, Stan's eyebrows furrowed. He ripped his gaze from the blankets and grumbled. “Craig, shut up. I really need this right now.” 

“You don't need it,” the other male differed. “I think you  _like_  jackin' it alone. That one guy who watched us with Butters, what's his name? He'll listen to me better. Maybe I should fuck him instead.”

This is all a part of Craig's game. Harmless and consensual. Sometimes the couple pretended they were still rutting and say abusive things to one another to get off. Of course, it’d be one-sided clearly on Stan’s behalf. Hearing dirty words coming out of Craig's mouth was the ultimate finisher for him. That, and he knew from this point in the present he wouldn't mean such horrible things. The main idea was to get off. The other fifty percent was goaded competition. Competition is what drove Stan to perform better. He wouldn't be American without it. It was his bread and butter for any course of work. Yes, even in bed. He didn't mind being talked down on in the bedroom he thrived on it.

Prodded by the choice of dialogue, Stan curled his fingers over the loose comforter that stuck out in front of him. Stan brought his vision away from the headboard and felt a light caress over his backside, restraining the urge to grab him and flip him over. The sensation sunk in deep enough to electroshock every cell in his body. Just the right tingle. Stan frowned instantly at the absence of the touch. It was such a serious time for him. He wasn't really in a mood for any more jokes. 

“Okay. Time's up, you're boring me,” Craig said that over him. He gave Stan's head another hard shove against the mattress before getting up to pull up his pants. Stan grit his teeth with his bangs screening over his eyes. Craig knew he was handsome. When Stan felt him move more than an inch, he reached and clamped his hand over his wrist.

“No, don't leave yet,” voice ripe with a sudden pitch of despair, Stan gave his arm a squeeze.

With a dissatisfied glare, Craig looked down at it and at his boyfriend again, “What will you do for me if I stay?”

The fingers uncurl from him slowly.

“Anything,” the young man breathed.

Craig frowned, “Nope, that won't  _work_.” Stan pouts beneath him. “Let me rephrase this for you, Stan.” Crouching lower. “What will you  _do_  for me if I stay?”

The young man below faltered, “I'll finger fuck myself and let you watch me...”

_“I'll lick your come off the floor... and smear it all over my face... Whenever I'm hard… it's all for you, babe.”_

_“I'll let you suck my dick in a church again... I'll let you have me anywhere in public...”_

All of those dirty whispers ingrained deliciously in Craig's thoughts, as quickly as Stan finished reciting them. 

“Craig  _please.._.”

“Please what?” the other male asked, seeming far away from him.

“Fuck the shit out of me,” Stan whispered shamelessly.

“So that's it, you just want me to fuck you,” Craig supplied in monotone, weighty cock laid bare against the split of his ass. Small tremors rolled down Stan's spine and he had his wrist pinned behind his back again. Stan wouldn't be too terrified to admit that he really loved his head being shoved to mattress like that. Along with the heat of his breath against the blankets, he made a soft sound. Against the bedding, his cock ached and leaked against it.  

“No,”  _quiver_. “I want more... I want you to drive it inside me and destroy me.”

“You shouldn't say that.”

“ _I want it._ ”

“How badly do you want it?”

“Like, I'd die without it...”

The worst part of it all,  _he wasn’t joking_. It’s been an incredibly bad day for Stan. Much like he lost his dignity in school again. He's not going to be an emotional dump truck again for Craig. Not when they’re like this, being intimate. Stan was over confiding to him. He wanted to be manhandled, pushed around, and forced to do things. Head dipping, he submits with his shoulders sloped forward. 

“Okay,” approved Craig, taking the time to go over that. “I'll let you have it.” Rising up slowly, he kept a steady grip on him, “I think I've dragged this on long enough.”

Craig slid back and would grant himself enough room to process what he was going to do next. Surprising Stan, he jabbed his thumb into his entrance. Experimentally pushing it in deep in him, Craig earned a frustrated gasp below him. Not even facing that glare, but he knew it was there. A white flash of hatred erupted from Stan. He did not lash out or curse this time. Or he'd be labeled disobedient. All the while, Craig kept his expression neutral, he never has he forgotten one of his favorite all-time highs… pissing off Mister Straight Football Jock, Stanley Marsh. When Craig finished sliding and teasing his hole with the large and swollen head of his cock, he finally eased it inside.

Every inch counts. Craig sank his teeth to his bottom lip. He pushed himself deeper into his warm and tight hole, earning a sigh of content from him. A knee grooved into the mattress next to younger boy's hip, he altered his position, sinking his length into him. No preparations necessary. Craig supplied enough of his own pre-cum to make a great base lubricant with it. Plus, they’ve already done it enough times already. Halfway inside, he paused a beat. Stan's head lifts with the strands being pulled by Craig's hand.

“Use me...” he moaned.

Their lips glide from the next sensuous kiss shared. A hand tightly gripping Stan's hip, little by little, Craig's self-control dwindled. Every inch of him hurt. Palm still mashed against his boyfriend's face, he stalked over him and began bucking his hips steadily against him. Faster, deeper. That trademark bored look on his face slowly disappears. Craig's sharp eyebrows contort when he desperately surged forward and drove into his boyfriend with maddening desperate thrusts. Skin slapping against skin. Craig quickened the pace. His breathing becomes more erratic through his clenched teeth. With another burst of speed, Stan's cries melted into sobs. His sharp moans and Craig's rhythmic grunts drifted further into to the living room and kitchen.  

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“ _Mmhh– hh!_ ” Stan groaned.

“My big cock pillaging your tight hole,” Craig pulled his hair tightly.

Stan breathed an  _uh-huh_.

“Who fucking owns you?”

“–You do!  _Ah!_ ”

His boyfriend leaned into his thrusts, “You’re so gay, I always knew it…” Hot breath against his shoulder, Craig rucks up the hem up Stan's shirt to his chin to reveal more of his sculpted and sleek anatomy. Tassels from his blue hat dangle over Stan's shoulder and his fingers probed into the jock's mouth with the shirt. Anguish and bliss marred Stan's features from the repeated and rough movements. With converged eyebrows, he bit down on the shirt, drooling.

“I always knew it, Stan,” Craig repeated, biting his ear. “I always wanted to fuck you...”

That hit Stan hard, almost as if he were hearing those words for the first time. Like he did back in high school. They were really making a mess here. He’d be too into it to tell him he told him so. Deep carnal desire manifested all over the blue clad teenager until he’s at the point of no return. He grunted some more while he vigorously drove into him with full intent to reach the stars. Craig’s fingers dug into Stan’s sweaty thighs. Hands dragging against the sheets, they slid down on the carpet against the front of the mattress. Stan's moans become louder, more throaty.

They needed to be quiet. Stan knew he couldn't. Ruining the childhoods of their neighbor's offspring would be the last thing they're thinking about right now, even though each knew their area was made up of predominantly white college kids and middle-aged drunks.

Craig grabbed his neck, crushing his Adam's apple, and drowns him with another sloppy kiss. A thread of spit dripped from the tips of their tongues after they parted. He buried his face against the crook of Stan's neck. The other arm that isn't snaked around Stan's middle was draped the other possessively over his shoulders, pulling him close to his chest.

Face hidden in his boyfriend's pale neck and Craig muffled his grunts against it. His balls tightened and he came hard and fast at the very last stroke. Thickness oozed down from his boyfriend's abused hole down to his sac. Thrusting at a slower pace, Craig sank his teeth over Stan's pulse. His other half writhed and convulsed with light spasms underneath him. Hushed with a palm clamping over his mouth, Stan cursed loudly during his hands-free climax. His cock jerked and twitched painfully before his seed spills on the floor.

In a sweaty and sticky heap, the couple collapsed on their knees against the edge of the bed.

“Yep. Quality anger management there,” Stan commented, breaking the silence. He cocked an eyebrow up at Craig and wiped his mouth and chin with his shirt. “Guess I have to clean this up now.”

The weight of another body above him being less of a distraction to him. Stan ran his fingers through his straight tousled strands, panting slowly.

“Whatever, you liked it,” Craig breathed.

Stan stuck his tongue out at him next, which he ignored. Determined to finish his boyfriend off, Craig slid his closed hand around his thick shaft. A purposeful moan over Craig's neck when Stan breathed hotly against it. His come ran down his knuckles. Some time to relax and recover, the duo waited until the ceiling stops spinning before striking up a conversation again.

Craig was the first one to break the silenced, resting his chin atop Stan's head, “So, hey. Remember when I use to leave my curtains open all the time whenever you slept over at Butters'?”

Stan's eyes widened a bit. Eyebrows drawn together, his grip on Craig's shirt loosened.

“Back in the tenth grade you use to watch me masturbate in my room in front of my computer,” he monotoned. “I always pulled my boxers down far enough so your gay ass could see it.” 

“What?” Stan's eyes flit up at him. “I didn't… Did you just...  You know, you just admitted that you’re a pervert, right?” 

No response from Craig. He moved some stray hairs from Stan’s face, staring at him thoughtfully while he rests his cheek on his own palm.  

“So, you  _knew_  that I watched you masturbate this whole time and you just sat there not doing anything.”

“Yep. Sounds about right.” 

“Dude, I've been doing that for two years,” Stan stammered softly. “Unbelievable.”

“I know.”

Gently bowing his head, Craig planted a chaste kiss over Stan's hair. After he scooted and rolled his pants over his hips, Stan finished climbing into the leg holes of his boxers. Satisfaction coursing inside each of them, they crawled into the bed and ducked under the covers of the mattress. Craig placed his palms over the sides of Stan's face and planted a kiss on his forehead when he nestled close to him. 

“Please get better, babe,” Stan heard him whisper above.

A blink at the rare word usage. The melancholy one of the two nodded and settled in Craig's arms, then smiled serenely at their fingers laced together.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my god, you are such a liar, Eric!” Wendy Testaburger surged forward, shoving her smartphone in the brunet's face. Downcast eyes ignored the smear of her purple painted fingernails that dragged in the air. He wasn't paying attention to her and she was almost on the verge of throwing the big and pink device at him.

“You wanna know what message I got from  _Stan_  this morning?”

“Nope,” the chubby male swiped at his phone apps in front of her. “Not really Wendy. Don't care.”

Chubby face rested on a palm, Cartman vented a sigh at the mini cast on his ring finger, before he swung his lazy gaze up to her. He sets his iPhone and car keys down in front of him on a small table, while they waited for their orders in the Tweek coffeehouse branch they chose. As she kept going, he stared at the light fixtures up in the vaulted ceiling.  Her back-length hair is down to her shoulders. Wendy had been re-growing it again, transitioning out of her last Wendyl phase.

“He said that I posted nudes of him on the internet again and that you were the one that brought it up at your school this morning!” the noirette stormed. “He told me I was toxic! It was only  _one picture! One_  picture and he blocked me!”

“Yep. I can see that.”

Anger steamed from her pores. The young woman with bright pink beret slammed her palms on the table. The white sugar packets shook when the surface rattled, “Well, you're gonna have to do something to correct this because this clearly isn't my fault!” 

Wendy pointed to her chest with her dainty hand. “On my behalf, I'll just say it was mostly  _your_  doing. I wouldn't be lying, either. This is a  _serious issue!_ ”

“Soothe your boobs, Wendy,” Cartman replied with a wave of a hand, staring at his fingerprint covered phone screen. “So, Stan doesn't suck your dick anymore. Big deal. The uncensored version's on Play'd now. No worries, you'll get your share of the money soon. I never forget your end of the bargain. Me and Butters talked it out already.”

Wendy stared at him hard. Her mouth went dry and it hung open. “What?”

“What?” Cartman echoed.

“ _No_ ,” Wendy's glossed lips ghosted over the vowel. “What did you say?”

“I said you don't have to worry, Wendy. It's on Play'd.” Fake cough. “One hundred hits is like a thousand dollars on there. Let's shoot for a million. If we get enough videos from Stan, we can use money as toilet paper like Token." 

Wendy's eyes dart back and forth self-consciously. 

"Mmm _,_  Stan’s videos  _making us money._  I'm tellin' ya Wends, you came to the right guy. As soon as we get paid enough, you don't have to worry about those bitchy student loan calls anymore, you're gonna be set. I can just hear the cha-ching and smell the green from a distance. This is really great! Porn business has it all! We're gonna be rich, bitch!”

Wendy smacked him across the face. The items on the table clatter before he reacts. A pink mark blossomed on his cheek. That had to be the second violent reaction to him for the day. Hand over the painful sting, Cartman narrowed his eyes at her with a deep scowl. The green fabric of his sweater stretched while she held onto the collar of his button-up top, her scrunched face leaning towards his.

Voice dropping a single octave, the brunet seethed, “You _rotten pussy..._ ”

Commotion overheard, a small number of people surrounding their table paused what they're doing.

A dustpan scraping against the ceramic tiles added gradience to the silence. Light jitters and a vexed look over a youthful face, a young man with unruly blond hair appeared next to them, wearing a headband. He brushed past their table with a broom and a dustpan. Jelly green irises meet with the floor while he's sweeping. The handle of the sweep held securely in his hands, the blond regarded his former classmates an annoyed glare and passed the broom to his boyfriend to say something. Quickly assuaged by a pale hand over his shoulder, a male with binary dyed hair emerged by his side in a calamine dress shirt. Before the buttons of Cartman’s undershirt popped, Wendy lets go.

“Can you dudes keep your freaking voices down?” the young man stepped up, requesting in an irksome tone. “You're sorta making my boyfriend feel funny. He really cares about his business here.”

“I'm sorry,” Wendy bowed her head, apologizing.

“Oh hell no! Wait a minute, aren't you one of those goth pussies from our old school?” Cartman recalled, rubbing the line of crimson from his busted lip.

“Um, yeah,” the powder-faced nihilist answered. Slightly offed by the profane word used to describe him and his friends.

“Since when do you boners think work is cool?”

“Since we're –gnh– smashing,” Tweek Tweak cut in shortly. Wendy's jaw slacked.

That was the blond.

“Dude! Fuckin' sick! I don't care about you fags getting' it on,” groused Cartman. 

“You're such a scab,” the goth complained.

“So... It's Peter, isn't it?” Wendy asked politely. She returned to her seat, hopeful for a pleasant exchange of conversation. “Oh, I remember you. You use to hang out with my ex-boyfriend Stanley.”

“Just Pete,” the button up blouse guy waved and nodded. He tossed his head, flipping his hair. “Wendy Testaburger or something, right?”

Tweek grabbed his hand.

“Yes,” Wendy confirmed with a nod. “So, what–”

A blur of blue caught her eye at the coffee shop's large window. Mascaraed lashes fanned up. Her eyes bugged out instantly. Pretending to be texting, Wendy balanced her phone on her hand while her My Melody charm linked to her car keys dangled in her grasp. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. 

Cartman seemed more relaxed now. Legs spread far apart while resting his forearm over the table, he smirked passively at his drink that was being handed over to him. Essentially, all things are good and they're going to work out for him as planned. If he played his cards right, maybe this could go on for a long time. Hopeful a few months. A few years?

Caramel drizzled whipped cream up to his lips, he really didn't care much about why Wendy Testaburger stopped mid-sentence. He tapped his fingers by the plastic lid and straw he set aside.

As Pete leaned in and whispered something to Tweek, the brunet peered at his phone to see if Leopold Butters Stotch sent him any new text messages. 


	4. Yosemite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Stan and the guys do some research._  
> 

“Lit,” Clyde reclined with a self-satisfied smirk.

Relaxed in the back seat of Token’s luxury SUV, he held a Styrofoam plate containing a hot slice of pizza with a brown napkin over of it. The crisp new car smell and the air conditioner running along with it invigorated his senses. He beamed brighter at his two friends revealing his brilliant white teeth on gold-plated front view mirror. The two in front of him each had their own plates. The Domino’s box laid slanted by his side on a leather surface.

“Kinda wish Jimmy and Tweek were here, though,” Token replied, taking a bite out of his greasy pie.

On the passenger’s seat next to him, Craig continued texting silently on his phone.

“Yeah, we’re missing a few guys. Jimmy’s off on another comedy tour I think, Kevin’s busy with Red, and Tweek’s in prison,” Clyde joked lastly, digging his phone out of his backpack. “And that would leave...”

“Us,” Craig finished.

“Oh, yeah. They’re all very busy,” Token agreed. “Hahaha, man, work. Tweek did text us this morning.”

“I know, right? Pretty lame, huh? I heard he doesn’t get off ‘til eleven. We should show up and surprise him,” the brunet suggested, wiping a stretch of cheese that hung from the corner of his lip. “What do you think, Craig? You in?”

**BABE**

**Today** **5:37 pm**

_{Headed near the plaza now. Do you want me to pick up anything for you, honey?}_

**Today 5:37 pm**

_{umm. how about some ice-cream? 🙂}_

**Today 5:38 pm**

_{OK. What flavor?}_

Mild disinterest favored Craig’s features when he’s cued in for a reply from his two friends about making a trip, that wasn’t to his destined stop.  Blinking lazily, his focus shifted to the male to the left of him, who is holding onto the steering wheel. With half-lidded eyes, Craig parted his chapped lips to say something, before his phone vibrated again with a _whoop_ sound effect.

 **Today**   **5:40 pm**

_{chocolate.}_

Clyde’s lips slid into another small grin at a comment he received on his Instagram feed from the back.

With the bass of a mellow rap song blaring in the speakers, Token slowly pushed his foot on the gas pedal again when the green go sign flashed in front of him.

 “Yep. We’ll stop at Tweek’s,” Craig said.

He slid his iPhone inside his hoodie pocket and removed the earbuds attached to his ears. Still having a hard time swallowing what happened, Craig was a bit disorientated about how the whole visiting his ex-boyfriend’s shop thing, after nearly killing a former classmate. He really wanted to talk to Tweek. Be enlightened, get his side of it. At the same time, he knew he’d be pointing fingers quickly. Still, Craig couldn’t imagine saying harsh words to him again. Maybe perhaps they can sit down and have a serious conversation about the incident with Eric Cartman. Something fishy is definitely going on. Craig really wanted to vent about the quarrel without resulting to being rash or dramatic.

The fighting and paranoia during their dating days still left a bad taste in Craig’s mouth. A current reminder to himself of how emotional Tweek could be. Rocky from the start, Craig and Tweek didn’t exactly end their relationship in good terms. Much to Stan’s knowledge and everybody else’s, they’re still very good friends. _Which, is true._ They still hang out, go on trips, and like each others’ pictures on Instagram. It being very common for Craig to imagine the worse. Being yelled at is already mentally exhausting for him. Bad thoughts completely purged away, Craig skimmed through the icons of his phone. It was best not to overthink it. He would reserve judgment for that time but until now…

“Haha, hey!” Clyde poked his head over Craig’s shoulder, after taking a glimpse at the live Instagram stream playing on his phone. The ceiling of the automobile is recorded, then brought down to them. Both males lean towards the camera and made silly faces at it.

“And…” Craig began, “it looks like _we’re live._ Hello stalkers, it’s me, Craig. Welcome back to the Craig and Friends Show. I think we all remember my idiot friend, Clyde.” He guided his phone towards his friend and grabbed his wrist gently, shaking it up and down in a waving motion. “He’s with me right now.”

“Nah-ah. Shut up, Craig!” cried the brunet. With a motion blur being captured, the phone is directed towards the driver’s seat.

“And you guys remember Token.”

A snicker from Craig reverberated beside the young man in his Gucci sweater waving at him.

“ _Ayy_ , what’s goin’ on?”

“So, hey guys. I got a new one,” Craig smirked. “Why do girls wear short skirts?”

Craig stifled a chuckle while Clyde’s confused look was being panned closer towards the camera.

“I don’t know. Why’s that, Craig?” Token answered.

“’Cause they’re skanks and nobody likes them.”

A bark of laughter resounded from each side of Craig. Clyde fell back and kicked his legs so high he nearly hooked his Nike shoes near his friend's chin. The male in the hat ducked with a grin. Concerned about his girlfriend watching, Token closed his mouth and faked his composure when the lens directed itself at him again.

“Watch this, honey.”

Before gathering a cigarette from his ear, Craig brought his phone closer to him and smooched his lips at Stan who is watching at home. Rolling his eyes at his friend’s atypical flirty display, Clyde crept from behind and yanked Craig’s chullo hat off, fluffing his hair with his hand.

The nicotine stick fell from Craig’s lips. Unable use his lighter appropriately, the teenager cursed underneath him, “Fuck you!”

Token laughed. Another left turn with his SUV and he took a sip of his soda. They were only a few buildings down from their destination now, only things still seem a bit tense for the leader of their group. As Token’s vehicle slowed while it rolled down the narrow street of downtown, he glanced by his shoulder.

“So, I texted Nichole to let her know things are okay now. Any thoughts on what you’re doing next?” the wealthy boy asked Craig.

“Flowers first,” the noiret said, adjusting his hat. Craig tugged on the flaps, securing it over his head.   

 

* * *

 

Stan blinked at his phone.

His opinion of it still hasn’t gone up too much. He still loathes social media. Though, he has been really flexible with it lately. Besides not being a fan of it, Stan has used it for the simple things he cherished, and of course for Craig. The young athlete got a kick out of it. Somehow being under his arm has changed everything – that would only be because Craig actually enjoyed showing him off now and he didn’t hide his feelings for him anymore. Things have really changed between them.    

He covered his smile at the smooch that was for him. After texting an emoji response to his boyfriend’s hat getting ripped away, the live stream ended.

To say, Stan was a bit overjoyed at hearing that nasally voice speak to him again. Some of that happiness dimmed when Craig’s face disappeared. Now at the present time, Stan stewed in his thoughts laying horizontal against the edge of the mattress on his stomach. The fabric nudged up against his bare skin and he wore only his pajama pants. With his face lazily pressed against his arm, Stan retracted his other hand that was near the digital alarm clock. The phone he is holding is gently placed over the nightstand. A big yawn is pushed from his chest and he dug his palm into his eye socket.

 _Well, that felt kinda better?_ he questioned in his mind about his sleep.

Stan flipped over on his back in his bedroom and his sight roamed up to the plastered ceiling. Along with the ambiance of neighbors talking outside and nature humming through the sliding door, Stan’s apartment was very quiet. Some warmth from the sun rays outside soak over the bedsheets and touched his hand. Legs folded in and seated up, Stan wiped at his eye again. He had a minor headache. A nice stroll to the kitchen for some aspirin and some water should reduce some of that.

Until then, the young man got up and stretched. He then ventured to the cupboards near the refrigerator. Though Stan usually kept them in the medicine cabinet, accessing them in the kitchen is convenient. It’s where he kept most of his sick pills. After swishing water in his mouth, Stan took another chug and swallowed a capsule.

“That’s what I tried to say,” a familiar voice muffled over the window by the kitchen sink.

“I’m telling ya man, we should’ve done something.”

After splashing his face with cool liquid from the running sink in front of him, Stan glanced back up at the vibrant grass and sun-bleached sidewalk through the glass. Four knocks on his front door. Polite not to bang on the wood too hard, Kyle Broflovski’s knuckles bounced against the surface. A blur of orange and suddenly Kenny is behind the kitchen window looking inside the apartment with his bright blue eyes. When glanced at, he offered his biggest grin and waved at the noiret before Stan moved to unlock the door. He slid the chain and pulled the doorknob towards him. Rudely greeted by the brightness of the outdoors, he squints at his two friends. A shadow veiled his face where his hand floats above his eyes. 

“Dude,” Kyle stressed with an exaggerated draw of breath. “It was so lame.”

With a small gesture, the noiret motioned them to come in.

“What is? Eric’s dorm?” Stan asked, opening up a bag of dried chili peppers that he dug from a cabinet.

“ _YES, Cartman’s dorm._ We almost got caught because fatboy didn’t know how to turn on the fan and open the windows. Kenny could’ve been caught.”

“Yeah, sucked big time. It was terrible,” Kenny agreed, shuffling before stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket.

Face rested over his knuckles, Stan stared at his partially open door. Barely making out the silhouettes that danced over the white sunlight of his living room carpet, he pushed his glance up and sees a pair of young women by the welcome mat.

Kenny gestured them to come inside. His sister Karen had dyed her hair back its natural hazelnut color a few months ago, after experimenting with many shades, and a punky outfit. Beside her is her noticeably taller best friend, Tricia Tucker. She donned a mint green athletic jacket that was in contrast of her bright bob cut and neon hair pins.    

“So, what else did I miss?” Stan mouthed the red vegetable after sliding on a shirt and pulling beanie over his head.  

“Thankfully, nothing,” Kyle replied. Kenny shifted his blue irises from him, two nudges from his bony elbow. “Oh wait.”

Stan tilts his chin up, chewing.  

“So, I was checking out that Play’d app, that Cartman was talking about. I was thinking we can go somewhere private and make accounts so we can determine if legal action should be taken or not. It kind of has a membership only access thing, which I think is kind of sketchy.”

“What’s Play’d?” Tricia interjected.

“Oh hey, Trish,” Stan greeted sheepishly, noticing the girl. “How’s mom?”

“Good,” Tricia blinked slowly. “I still have some recipes marked down if you and Psycho want them.”

Stan managed a smile. Time has really progressed when he and Craig made it official. Dating for two years, it really felt like they were practically married now. In fact, ‘married’ was Craig’s status on his Facebook.

They’ve already spent a great deal getting to know each others’ families and within an exception of their dads, the idea of the title mom hasn’t really stuck to Stan, until Laura Tucker herself brought it during one autumn evening. Though Tricia and Craig barely talked and didn’t’ see eye to eye, she has always been respectful towards his sexuality.

“Now explain to me, McCormick,” Tricia crossed her arms. “What’s Play’d?”

Kenny and Karen raised their eyebrows at each other and Stan shrugged, turning on the tv, taking another bite out of chili pepper. 

“You’ll know when you’re older,” Kenny cooed.

“That won’t work. I’m in the tenth grade, now,” Tricia said. “I’m not a little girl anymore. It’d be polite if I got some answers from you guys.”

The blond smiled with his eyes and ruffled his own hair and Karen propped herself on a La-Z-Boy recliner.

“Sister, if you may.”

Stan sighed.

“Play’d is a porn app where you can expose cheaters in your community by uploading racy videos of your exes doing just about anything,” informed the usually meek blonde. “That’s not limited to cam shows, screenshots, sext chat logs, voice audio, the works. It’s really popular in New York, where it was first discovered – but somehow, it’s receiving really huge hits all over the nation, and now here. When you make a profile on there, you’re given ten slots there. You can make mini-profiles of people who’ve done you wrong, or just jerks you know. I heard they have a pay system there and you can win gift cards. If your cheater is really popular, you’ll get a handsome check. Think of it as a burn book from that vintage movie Mean Girls, only with guys jackin’ off. I’d say it’s pretty brutal.”

“Okay,” Tricia faced the three young men, absorbing that. “So why do you guys wanna make accounts on there?”

“To investigate,” Kyle repeated.

“Is Craig in it?”

Stan’s jaw locked, he couldn’t bring himself to form any words right now. With his hands webbed together, feet planted and looking at the ground.

With a hand over his best friend’s shoulder, Kyle made a face at the strawberry blonde girl, “That’s if your brother is stupid enough to produce something so crass and vulgar that it needs to be put up there.”

“Kyle, dude,” Stan poked his head up.

“What?” The redhead’s face relaxed. Though, he kept a firm stance on his opinion. His pitch of voice showed concern. “Well, that’s not really something anybody should share. I told you that before.” Kyle held his breath. “You never listen, Stan.”

Tricia’s eyes fell over Stan, who is holding his head in his hands, “So, you’re in there too.”

“Kenny, I think someone told me you’re in it,” Karen said worriedly.

The older blond slants his lips. Turning away, Kenny grumbled, “Eh, it’s not too bad. Screw a couple of random bitches and they’ll have problems with you forever.” Hands tossed up and a shrug. “I don’t have anything to hide. Fuck those douche canoes.”

“Yeah. Shit happens,” dejected sigh from Kyle. Tricia flipped him off. “Maybe it’s not as bad as we think?”

“Hope not,” Karen spoke softly.

“Can you not do that, please?” the Jew asked kindly.    

Tricia raised her finger again.

Forearms drop to his thighs. Through his curled fingers, Stan gathered the material of his pants. “Guess we’ll just have to check it out, then. Just tell me when you guys are ready.”  

 

* * *

 

The chime of a bell goes off at the sound of a glass door with fancy cursive writing slams. With his hoodie fully zipped up to his neck, Craig balanced a large bouquet containing a mixture of rich reds and burgundies. Almost broke, but worth it to him, he clenched the teal foil wrapper of the plants around his fingers. His two friends followed him back to Token’s car.

With his legs up, Clyde watched the flowers slide and bobbed while the SUV rolled a few more blocks down the street.

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly, with his lips pulling on his drinking straw. “Yep. I picked those.”

Craig pulled the bouquet back in his arms with his face tinged dark crimson.

“So, does that mean you’re gonna have more makeup sex when you get home?” Clyde waggled his eyebrows, imitating Craig’s smooch from earlier.

“Ha, maybe,” Token replied before Craig could open his mouth. “Wouldn’t be surprised. They do _do_ it like nonstop. Like bunnies. Man, I remember when they use to fight over the merry-go-round all the time. Now whenever I see them, it’s like watching something off The Discovery Channel.”

“Ah, yes. Nostalgia. With all that built up sexual tension at South Park,” arms folded behind his head again, the brunet looked up at the ceiling. “I guess it was bound to happen, I called it.” Clyde relaxed. “Stan’s a very lucky guy. Getting some of that action all the time. I bet he must feel like he’s on top of Mount Everest right now.”

His straw made loud noises when he slurped.

“Of course, he’s lucky. _He’s with me_ ,” said the male in blue. Craig fingered the cards that dangled from the edge of his flowers. “And actually Clyde, we don’t do that that much.” Closing his mouth, Craig fidgeted from the slight withdrawal of nicotine he had minutes ago.

With hooded eyes, Clyde and Token grin at each other.

“So, those BJ sounds I heard from last Friday… _they weren’t real?”_ asked Clyde.  

“No.”

“Oh, _I know_ what giving head sounds like,” Token mumbled. “That was definitely head.”

“You weren’t even in the call.”

“It was a three-way! He was busy!” screeched the jock with tightly clenched fists.

Craig blanched.

“Oh no, Craig,” Some of the anger subsides and Clyde reached for him, “Hey, just listen for a sec, will ya?”

Craig jerked his shoulder. The brown-eyed jock moved. Saddened by the instant rejection of his touch. 

“Fine! Sheesh, I didn’t know I’d be the one who’s hurting somebody’s feelings this time! You shouldn’t be mean to me, Craig!” Clyde pouted. 

“Then don’t say I have sex a lot,” Craig said in a vexed ton. “I don’t.”

Hands on the top of his buddies seats, Clyde casts a doubtful glance to the other male at the steering wheel. Token gave him that _don’t look at me_ shrug.

“Hey, I’m just goin’ off by what Clyde says,” the rational one of the group pulled back, looking ahead through the window shield. His 14k studs glitter from his earlobe when he turned his head.  

The brunet pouted, “No way, Token. Ya just gonna leave me hangin’?” Clyde’s focus darts towards Craig. “Look, I understand why you’re kind of upset today, but Cr–”

“Kind of?” Craig raised his voice, sudden change from his relaxed mood. “You can _fuck off_.”

“Ay…” Token added. “You know, besides Cartman, I don’t see why you’re really that angry.”

“I wouldn’t be so angry if people didn’t treat me like that’s the only thing I think about!” Craig defended.

“Then stop raping our eyes with your statuses!” exclaimed Clyde, ready to kick something.

Much like water being dumped on flames at a campfire, the conversation halted suddenly with an abrupt silence, but the nervous tension still stuck like the smoke in the air. 

“Stop raping your eyes with my statuses,” Craig repeated in a monotone. He lazily brought his bouquet closer to his chest. “Okay.” Complexion free of dents, Craig gazed listlessly at the moving cars by his window and plucked a stray petal from his lap. “I guess we’ll see what happens next, then, when I’m not going to the movies with you guys next Sunday.”

“You can’t be serious. Craig, come on,” Clyde’s mouth wiggled.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Token. “Time-out. Calm down, bro, chill. You and Stan may not notice it, but when you guys get together… you get _really happy.”_

Clyde added, _“Really, really_ …  happy.”

“What’s your point?” Higher pitched voice, Craig asked bluntly.

“I mean, you do agree with us a little bit, don’t you? You’re always at work or with your boyfriend,” Token explained, “and with homework and everything… where does that leave us, dude? Two years ago, you said no more relationships. I know life’s changing now because we’re getting older, but I feel right now since we don't have curfews anymore, you could at least put a little effort into some of it. I’ve been in relationships as long as you have. I still make the time for us, what’s your excuse?”

“I’m with you guys right now, aren’t I?”

“What’s gonna happen on my birthday?” Token glared.

“I’m trying.”  

“Sometimes trying isn’t good enough, bro.”

“Jerk!” the ballplayer squealed from the backseat.

Like a five-year-old forced to go to time out, Clyde plunked back on the leather seats with his arms folded. Craig paused, seeing his red-rimmed eyes at the front view mirror. His phone vibrated and he pocketed it from his hoodie.

**CLYDE**

**Yesturday 3:31 pm**

_{:P}_

**Today 6:27 pm**

_{luv u}_

_{😭}_

_{were stil bros rite? 😭😭😭}_

 

* * *

 

“How can you eat that stuff?” Kyle gagged at the clear bag of peppers beside his shoulder. “Dude, you’re gonna be shittin’ fire. Fireball shit.”

Made comfortable in a computer chair, he hunched over at the small work desk in Stan and Craig’s bedroom.

Though the room isn’t usually a pig sty when Craig is around, Stan always had a penchant for keeping things untidy. With a soft grimace, Kyle deeply disregarded the scattered paraphernalia and the hanging cable from the LCD tv on the wall that looked like is half-plugged, which also looked like a complete fire hazard.

“I don’ know, I just like it,” the beanie guy shrugged, plopping another pepper in his mouth.

Kenny ran into the room and catapulted the bed, arms and legs spread.

“Wouldn’t lay there, if I were you,” advised Stan.

“Man, I don’t give a fuck,” the blond smiled dizzily, muffled against the fluffy cloud that is his friend’s pillow.

“Okay,” Stan compulsively plucked another pepper and placed it between his lips. His vision swam over the disturbed blankets until he got a glimpse of the food Kenny’s holding. Commenting while swallowing a mouthful of the treat that pricked his taste buds. “Oh, you found something you like back there?”

Kenny uncapped a jar of Nutella. “Yeah.”

“Oh, neat. That’s actually new, I never opened it.”

“Hey, you guys. Get over here,” called Kyle.

A small dab of his finger in the container, the blond taste-tested the chocolate, swabbing his tongue over his digits. He made a sound of approval in a few licks and plunged his whole hand into the jar. Stan leaned in with his hand on Kyle’s shoulder, to get a better look at the computer screen.

“So, as you can see with what I got pulled up here, the app has a desktop site. I already got an account made up a few seconds ago, so let’s get to it.”

“Hm, kinda looks like Pornhub,” Kenny examined, bending back and squinting.

“Type in my name first,” Stan dared.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. I really wanna get this over with. If there are numbers involved, I need to know right now.” 

The redhead shrugged and clacked his friend’s name on the keyboard, emerald eyes vibrating back and forth while the results load. Kenny’s attention was glued to many of the raunchy thumbnails. Quickly displeased, he sees none of them had nudity. He glared at the cursor upset when it’s dragged off an oiled-up brunette in a small bikini. Near Kyle, his two friends hunched over his shoulders. 

“Wow, your internet’s crap.”

“Sue me.”

The screen finally loads. Leaning back at the same time, their mouths hung open in awe. Now face to face with just one thumbnail, Kyle covered his mouth.

_Jock in Santa Hat Sucks a Candycane HARD! CLICK NOW AND SUBSCRIBE by KyleSucksHAIRYBalls_38_

Kenny licked the hazelnut spread that stuck at the corners of his lips and peeked down at Stan.

“I can’t believe it, Cartman’s right. It is just you in a Santa hat,” gasped Kyle, relieved.

“Hehe. Yeah, lookin’ good too,” Kenny complimented.

“Title’s a bit much, though.”

“Uh, thanks you guys,” Stan rubbed his neck. “I think.”

“It’s only twenty-three seconds long, should we click it?” pointed the Jew.

“Nah, I have the same video on my phone. I already know what happens in it.”

Some of the weight in Stan’s chest has been lifted. With that, a comfortable silence befell the three friends. Over Kyle’s hand, Kenny dragged the mouse and clicked the back arrow and then the hot pink hyperlink. His eyes twinkled at the page going white and being redirected to a woman dancing in the tiny white bikini.

 

* * *

 

 

Fists shoved deep inside his pockets, a male with a dark blue hood over his head pushed past several pedestrians and blurred through the window of a café downtown.

Petrified look on her face, Wendy glanced at the figure inside of the building and then back at Cartman who was chuckling at old Tide Pods memes. She drooped her eyes at the image on his phone, revered it with a scoff, and lowered her own phone from her face.

To Wendy’s blatant observation, the glass door entrance swung open and the from outside man stepped inside. A sketchy fellow, at that. Wayfair sunglasses. He floated past the tables and nodded towards Tweek. The mysterious guy cocked his head and gestured Cartman to come near him.

Sighing dramatically. “Not now.”

Again, the stranger motioned again and waved his hands back and forth.

“Ay. Screw you, I said not yet.”

Pete blinked and lets his elbow slide near the cash register. He tossed his head and flipped his hair again while the scowl weakens on his face.

“Cartman,” came the intimidating baritone voice from the hoodie. Too close to Kenny’s impression of Batman, it was almost comedic. “We need you, _now_.”

“And who’s that supposed to be, Eric?” Wendy quirked a tweezed brow. “Is he one of your sketchy little thug friends? He looks awfully suspicious to me. I don’t remember letting more fiendish people into our little circle.”

“ _Little circle_ ,” reiterated the overweight brunet. He chuckled. “That’s cute, Wendy. So, you’re still in it, after all.”

“Absolutely not,” the young woman clucked.

“Okay,” Cartman lets out a breath. “Jig’s up Butters. Wendy says she don’t want to be a part of it anymore, you can let your hood down.”

“Awe, shucks. I th-thought it was a cool disguise too,” stammered the fair-haired blond, revealing a vibrant blue eye. His other iris had a milky white film over it. Marked from a ninja star accident, laid a waxy scar that stretched against his sandy brow and his upper cheek. It gave his babyface a more appealing look. In his opinion, that is. He’s grown to love it.

“Nobody’s wearing a disguise today, Butters. It’s just us and Wendy.”

Tweek leaned against his hands folded on the red plastic broomstick. He looked up at the clock on the wall and peeled off his apron.

“Finally,” he called out with a wink he couldn’t help.

The airy apparel is gently hung on the hook rack behind the drive-thru espresso machine. Tweek briskly emerged from the shadows of the back room and sat comfortably beside his boyfriend, Pete.

The blond grinned softly at the weight of his hand petting his head.

“You have bags under your eyes,” voice as smoky as his eyeshadow, the goth broke out.

From aging, Pete’s pitch has matured. It’s gotten more relaxed, deeper. The only thing that stuck with him would be his clumsy syllables from time to time.

“Well, it’s from all the work I have to do, you edgy fuck,” Tweek’s lighter greens flit at him, after glaring at his reflection at the toaster, that was gifted to him that morning. “And if you want to go on from the – ”

Pete smiled, “I think they look cool.”

Face dampened by sweat, the blond covered his beet red face with both of his hands, while he continued petting. Tweek pulled Pete’s wrist from his head and had them hold hands on the counter, and then very neatly, he pried the pulp-fiction magazine that Pete was holding in his other hand.

“Wha – ”

“Look at me.”

Slender fingers brushed the goth’s fringe up, gently sweeping extra strands away from his eyes. No one would be allowed to touch his face but him, but Tweek Tweak was certainly his only exception.  Or maybe Henrietta, if she would help him apply on some makeup every now and blue moon. As a former kid and adolescence that was spotted with acne, Pete use to be really sensitive when it comes to his face. The pockmarks lessened significantly when he turned eighteen, and now he usually paints over the few with foundation.  

“So, what’s the deal with that Cartman guy?” Pete leaned into his touch. “I heard you guys whispering about something about some app with naked dudes in it, I don’t get it.”

“Well, remember when Craig cheated on me?”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking again, maybe, I let him off too easily.”

Mouth open with wonder, Pete gasped softly before Tweek leaned in and pressed his lips against his. Pulling back from the kiss, astonished. The male blinked.

“Oh, you’ve said that before. But didn’t we – doesn’t _that_ already count for revenge? And… aren’t you guys _friends?_ ”

 _“Gah!_ No man, I mean, he needs to suffer,” Tweek frowned when Pete removed his hand from his face. “He didn’t enough last time! He’s still being a jackass on Facebook and Instagram. Craig's so cocky, I’m sick of that shit! I’m gonna spear through his ass like we did in 11th grade and it’s gonna be fuckin’ fireworks. Like he thought I’d forget when he said he upgraded. I know damn well he’s not talkin’ about his phone, I hate it. I hate every fiber of that trash bag human being. I’ve already tried being p-patient with him. I’ve held it in for two years. Everything just feels like a personal – _grh_ – attack to me, now. I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m gonna own him. There will be no stopping me so before you go judging me, rememb –”

“Stellar, babe.”

Duped. Tweek’s lashes flutter at his response. “What?”

“You’re finally standing up to that cuntrag conformist. I’m proud of you, I think it’s cool.”

“I’m gonna murder someone’s life – nh – and you’re okay with that?” Tweek asked, confused. 

“I know. Doesn’t that sound kinda hot, though? Hey, if you let me in, we can have sex on their ashes. We’d be like that couple on fucking Heathers,” Pete breathed, mesmerized. One of the few movies he enjoyed with conformists in it. Maybe sounding a bit superficial to himself as well too, but he was in a whatever mood and there was something about Tweek that made his perception more liberal.

“Kiss me again,” Tweek demanded.

“Ah dude, sick!” Cartman called three tables down.

Their lips separated. Palm caressing the side of his boyfriend’s face, the blond wasn’t really quite sure of how he felt with this new Pete. Something along the lines of, _That’s fucked up_ and _Dude, you just don’t do that to your friends_ , sounded more plausible than ‘stellar’.

Only a handful of times, Pete has given Tweek anti-speeches on revenge, that actually worked. Over the years he tried to help him channel his anger elsewhere. A majority of it has been done through art and music. Pete squeezed Tweek’s hand, hoping that would relieve some of that suppressed torment. Rubbing small comforting circles with his thumb, he craned his neck up with a half-smile.

“Does that mean I get to set stuff on fire again?”

 

* * *

 

Kyle heaves a hefty sigh, and slid from the wheeled computer chair, letting Kenny take control from his seat. Mission accomplished for the three. It felt like a level-complete on a really tough video game for Stan. For, Stan strategized many hours ago about how he is going to get rid of some videos. The Christmas one in particular, he can accept. Yes, Stan could deal with one video of him half naked spreading all over cyberspace.  Just as long as he isn’t masturbating and his groin is just covered in those big emojis like Cartman said earlier that day.

Though Wendy has shared naked pictures of Stan when she was bragging to Bebe, and the other time when she was mad and showed his equipment to the whole cheerleading squad. Still wrong, but mostly done in person. Wendy still respected Stan enough not to upload them online. Unfortunately, during one of their huge fallouts, the whole entire eleventh grade has seen ‘it’. Stan wouldn’t have minded if he was fully naked in it, but it had been the sheer fact that he was playing with himself in clear view, and his face was showing in it. 

Dark eyebrows knit at the memory. The water bottle crumpled soundly in his hand when Stan took another big sip from it to wash down the unique spiciness in his throat. After browsing many videos and galleries of girls on the website, Kenny shot up.  

“What is it, Kenny?” Kyle asked.

“I found the settings,” the blond spoke.

Stan removed his hands from his waist.

Kyle dropped his arms to his sides, “And?”

“We’ve been on SFW this entire time, dude,” he spoke behind his sick mask. “The NSFW filter is off.”

“What?” Stan opened his mouth. “You mean to tell me, there could be more videos of me floating around in that creepy site?”

“Well…  I was beginning to wonder why there weren’t any naked people in it, when it’s called a ‘revenge porn site’,” Kyle scratched his ear under the flap of his hat. “I mean, really? Would any of this answer the big question now?”

“Well, I hope that video is the only one. Whoever put our stuff up is so full of crap,” Stan remarked.  

Kenny slid the cursor and unchecked the box by the NSFW sign. Stan paced back and forth behind them. The page reloaded again and it becomes littered with many ads and women flashing their assets. Kenny’s eyes twinkled for a moment at the girls lasciviously splayed bodies in various positions before Kyle nudged him to get off the chair. Kenny narrowed his eyes and glared.

“Holy shit, dude,” Kyle swore. “That’s Craig.”

Stan’s vision zeroed in on the thumbnail that contains a male in a dark room wearing an oversized gray NASA sweatshirt with star-shaped neon lights floating over his figure. He was naked from the waist down and had his boxers slanted past his knees.

“Dude!” exclaimed Kyle, scrolling down. “There’s some more.”

“Holy shit!” Kenny cursed.

Stan went red. His eyes bugged, vision burning. He gently tapped his friend’s arm before being granted access to slide into the seat. Arms crossed while standing up, Kyle watched as his crony click the uploader’s username and skim anxiously through Craig’s section with an undeniable prickly rage that’s ready to explode any moment. On the sub-section of the user’s profile there was a stolen photo of Craig with his tongue peeking between his lips.  

Same green eyes, same blue hat. His entire face is showing in this picture. Legs splayed with partially unbutton jeans, Craig was seated on the floor with his hand cupping his balls through the denim. The wet head of his cock peeked through his boxers and the teeth of the zipper over his shaven pubic hairs. Stan’s eyes narrowed. It looked like someone else took that picture. There was a shadow on the wall behind him. The caption under the picture says, _“Liar, Liar. Pants practically off.”_

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked urgently.

Frantically skimming through the page, Stan disregarded being directly spoken to, until he finally mustered an answer.

“Get my phone,” he said.

Kenny jets towards the living room and dug through Stan’s backpack. Unconcerned about the stickiness of the blond’s fingers, Stan brought his thumb over the top of his call directory and waits for his boyfriend to pick up from the other side. Kyle nearly choked at the images before the down arrow is pushed far enough for him not to see them anymore.

“Pick up the phone. Pick it up,” the noiret sighed, bouncing his foot under the table. Stan got up again and paced in front of his bed. Kyle returned to the front of the computer.

“Hi babe,” chirped Craig. “You’re still up. Didn’t want to take that second nap?”

“I’m seriously gonna kill someone right now,” Stan breathed, the first words out of his mouth.

“Why?”

At the sound of car doors shutting, Token and Clyde accompanied Craig, who climbed out of vehicle first. He had his phone to his ear, speaking to his boyfriend again. The wind picked up around them and rustled their clothes.

“Oh, nothing,” Stan laughed from the receiver. “Just kinda found out what that app was about today.”

Craig squeezed his phone tighter. “What app?”

Clyde’s forehead wrinkled when he looked at Token, and the young man shook his head in response at him.

“Umm, the same one from this morning. You’re naked in it, dude, and that’s not all you’re doing.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” the noiret raged, earning glares and glances from pedestrians.

Stan panicked, “I don’t know! Me, Kyle, and Kenny were visiting the website today. It says some really dirty things in it.”

“Oh, like what?” Craig raised his voice, switching his call settings to speaker.

“There’s kind of a lot,” Stan groaned. “Do you still want me to...”

“Read all of it _._ I wanna know exactly what this bitch thinks of me. I have it on speaker phone right now!”

Stan held his smartphone up to Kyle’s mouth.

“Craig Tucker. Born, January 25th. One of the most horrible gays you’ll ever meet. Grade-A bully. Laughs at his own jokes, makes babies cry, and is a compulsive liar. Don’t be fooled by the quiet nature this motherfucker pulls.  This self-important sack of fecal matter is a closeted sexual deviant, pretends to listen to your problems so he can fuck you, prides on his average looks, and acts like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Gets off to fucked up stuff like loud cursing and crying." 

Kenny pulled his blues away from Stan. Kyle continued reading.  

"Brags too much about his empty life on Instagram, Snapchat, and other garbage sites. Will buy you ‘presents’ to fix problems, because running away from them is the best he can do. Really horrible kisser. _Also, abusive as fuck._ Likes to belittle his friends and masturbates behind your back. Claims he hates jocks secretly but watches them get gangbanged ‘hard’ in porn while you’re sleeping. He also likes it ruff. Really selfish in bed. WILL eye fuck any guy within a 3-foot radius (so disrespectful) when you're under his arm. Says he’s gay but cheated on really nice guy with a girl once. Caution! May have aids! Stay away from this nasty dude! DO NOT DATE HIM.  – err sorry for the loudness, that was actually in capslock.”

“Whooaa!” Clyde and Token covered their mouths with their balled hands.

Craig ended the call.

“Guess that means we won’t be headed to Tweek’s, then,” Clyde commented, noticing Craig’s angry strides.

“Well, how do we even know if it’s Tweek?” Token asked skeptically.

Craig slammed his fist against the jaw of an alligator statue. A loud  _POP!_ noise pierced their eardrums and the duo winced behind Craig. Face contorted with anger, the boy in the blue chullo hat unhooked his arm and his knuckles swelled when he drew back. One leg over the plastic figure and then another, Craig stepped over the mascot that was laid to rest by the arcade.

Spotting the teenager’s hostility, the people crowding around the entrance of the arcade building gasped at the mascot’s disfigured face, and surrounded it to take pictures. Clyde smiled nervously at the women and children, then waved his hand apologetically to them while Token shook his head for the third or fourth utmost time.  He stopped recording his Snapchat story.

“Hey, how about we text him and we can talk about it,” suggested Clyde, his hands in his pockets.

“Craig?”

Token had his mouth hung open. His eyebrows rose so far up that they almost meet each other, now finding himself running because Craig took off sprinting. Around the same time Token and Clyde caught up with Craig, he bolted. Video audio captures of Clyde panting. The sidewalk distorts and his phone lens pans to his feet.

“Oh shit! Wait up you guys!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These dumb kids. Comments maybe? Oof. 


	5. Sinners Are Winners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Darkness abounds._  
> 

“And then I said, you’re wearing a  _freaking wig_  from Party City, slime plats, and a sweater with an inverted cross on it, and you’re telling me that I’m the poseur? What the fuck is pastel goth, anyway? Isn’t it like the 2020’s? I thought that silly fad was over.”

Gray ashes vanish in the wind when an index finger tapped on a cigarette lightly. The stick glowed a bright ember at the tip when a male with a curly pompadour took a long drag out of it and exhale a thick cloud of smoke above his face.

Dressed in a neat button-down and a modern-day frock coat, a gothic male with painted black fingernails pressed his back against a brick wall with his foot propped against it. Deeply charcoaled eyes stare past his polished shoes at the dirtied and flattened gum on the cracked pavement. A shoulder away from him, a somber friend in equally dark attire occupied himself with him at the corner of Tweek’s coffee shop, holding a cigarette. They stood next to speakers with an Android phone attached to it.

“They keep multiplying like flies. It’s become more than a plague, Firkle,” the curly haired gentleman resumed. “these conformists keep coming up with weaker and weaker comebacks.”

Another flick of ash on the ground. The song _Lie to Me_ by Depeche Mode slowly merged into another hit by them,  _Behind the Wheel_. Weird looks and grimaces from pedestrians. A gentleman in crocks directed his glare and twisted his face in disgust at the pair. Michael flipped him off as he stepped into a nearby shop.   

“Conformists can suck Hugh Hephner’s withered balls,” commented his pasty friend.

Michael grinned in approval. “Good one, friendo,” he said, patting Firkle’s shoulder.

He mouthed the cigarette butt again and gazed emptily at the cars passing by in the streets. Relieved that the garish light of day has dimmed down some, Michael rocked forward and dropped his hands to the side. He tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his polished oxford shoe. Firkle followed by tossing his in the gutter. 

A ghost of an enthusiastic smile still lingered at the corners of Michael's lips. The young man in the frock coat fished out his pocket watch and cupped it in his palm. Motioning the trinket sideways where the setting sun’s not focused on it, he took a single glance at the plastic face with Roman numerals in it. A disappointed look morphed his jovial expression. Sudden dismay tinged his sharp cheekbones. 

“What’s wrong?” his friend asked solemnly.

Michael lets out a dejected sigh, “Freaking noon is turning into dawn. You know what that means.”

Pitch-black irises tilt at him.

“That means it’s back to the asylum for me,” the tall goth exhaled, tucking in his watch. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Gathering his cane, Michael surged forward and made his way around the building corner with Firkle. Both talked about the dread of Summer encroaching soon. Each still despised the sun’s deathly rays. A ‘Life is a Grave and I Dig It’ and a Lacrimosa band button reflects under the natural light above the clouds while it’s pinned to his black backpack. Firkle holstered it up behind him after collecting the speakers while Michael mentioned something about sunscreen.

Faint footfalls cause a sudden interruption in Michael’s speech. He cocked his head up sharply. Sudden dislike, Firkle scowled in front of him. They halted their footsteps when the end of the street is suddenly blocked by a panting boy in Adidas.

Darkly rimmed eyes scroll the figure up and down. Repugnance and aggravation stemmed automatic. From minor inconveniences of the past, the friends harbor a strong loathing enmity toward the fellow that stood in front of them, Craig Tucker.

It wouldn’t be solely that they are polar opposites when it comes to the social food pyramid. Craig was a bully amongst their friend Pete and a certain classmate that he’s dating. Almost at the top of the chain. Michael focused on the individual, while the younger goth gave a warning glance at the guy in the yellow puffball hat.  

“Oh no, not you again.”

“Where’s Tweek?” Craig’s voice caved in.

“Working,” the pompadour goth replied.

Drawing in a breath. “Kay, thanks.”

Craig’s ragged breathing calmed some and he marched toward Michael’s direction with the ends of his unzipped hoodie flying behind him. His tall reflection distorts by the nearby shop mirrors, as the gap closes more between him and the gothic gentlemen. With an unamused gaze, Michael sets aside his walking stick and dug into the velvet pocket inside his frock coat.

A  _flick!_  sound and Craig paused mid-step.

Michael turned his head and looked over his shoulder. His eyes bulged slightly.

“That’s as far as you’ll go,” Firkle advised quietly, planting a foot forward. “Just turn around and walk away...”

He was the smallest and the least conformist of them all. But it appears that the pint-sized boy has shot up five-feet like a hybrid tree overnight. Almost as tall as his eldest friend at just fourteen, his head was near his shoulder, the former midget poised bellicosely with a switchblade wielded in his right hand. His dagger gleamed in Michael’s copper-toned pupils, which prompted the older boy to step forward and draw out his own knife. Gazing forward in a straight fencing pose, Michael pointed it at the direction of the male in joggers.

Craig slowed his strides and his arms dropped to his hips. After stretching the hamstrings of his neck by cocking his head to one side, he regarded the pair with a cold stare. Instinct kicking in, he brought his hand inside the pocket of his hoodie and drew out his father’s hunting knife. The silvery blade reflected white when he tossed it in the air before Craig gripped the handle tightly. He was secretly proud of that. The skill came with months of trying to be cool, and extra practice.

Hardly impressed, the pair exchanged dull looks before taking a glance forward again.

“You’re not the only ones that like to play dirty,” sneered the noiret. “Take a closer look.  _My knife is bigger than yours._ ”

“God, he’s such a fag,” Firkle exhaled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.   

“Welp, you heard him. Looks like the conformist chose us over natural selection,” Michael announced. “Not really much we can do about it. Let’s just get this over with. I’ve got more horror flicks I need to catch up on.”

 

* * *

 

 

Crickets chirped in evergreens that surround the back windows beside apartment 2-B, along with the diluted caws of magpies underneath the swirling sky. As the cornflower hue of blue shifted into a light indigo beneath the pink clouds, a group of three stayed huddled around an Apple computer indoors.    

“I guess our double-date is canceled tonight,” began a certain poor blond. A pity to him, he was actually looking forward to more food and catching up with his friends that night.

“Sorry about that, Kenny. I’m sure Butters will understand. Maybe we’ll go next week.”

“It’s alright. Do you still wanna know if you’re in there?” he asked Stan with his arms behind his back. Referring to the website. He quirked a sandy blond brow with an inquisitive stare.  

Much of the day has been a disaster. Stan just wanted to leave all bad things behind him and just move on, but he’d be happier now, that he wouldn’t face these trials alone. Not for selfish reasons or anything. Stan always knew Craig kept his nude pictures private and exclusive to him. There’s to say, the content uploaded of him online must have vastly been produced many months before he and Stan ever considered each other romantically. It was still a shocker for Stan to see his boyfriend in full display with his guard completely down, giving himself away completely to the camera. He was angry that other people have access to watching it, but he kind of wanted to click on it and see the show.  

“Hello, Stan?” Kyle broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Huh? Um, yeah. I’m just gonna wait until Craig gets home,” Stan said, after weighing in the different options. 

Both cheerily and smugly, Kenny teased him. “That’s my boy. Be patient like the obedient wife you are.”

“What?! Dude, shut up! – I’m not the bitch!”

“Stan, you’re so the bitch,” Kyle added sternly, ignoring his super best friend’s girlish pout. “Just give up, already. You’ve been losing this battle since the dinosaurs. You’re the girl. It’s time you accept your bottom bitch trophy. Accept your defeat, and move on, dude.”

A single finger was raised and then a hefty sigh left the noiret. Stan knew his friends would obliterate him personally when it comes to dealing with this topic. Though it was a really sensitive and heated subject during grade school, the young ballplayer has come to terms with himself. They’re right. He is the bottom. Stan didn’t mind being the ‘girl’ to Craig. Just as long as they kept it under wraps and in private. In fact, they were still discussing his bedroom roles before he ventured off with his friends.

While that was still on the table, the only time Craig would bottom is if he’s doing Stan a favor, and he would be a power bottom. No exceptions. Even now, however, it wasn’t very frequent that he would take such a role. They’ve wrestled virtually on every flat surface they could just about find and in the sheets. Though Stan played sports, his boyfriend was taller and more physically imposing than him. Craig would always come out on top, and always did, quite literally.

Stan gulped down his mineral water and glanced to the side. “Man, you’re right. But don’t tell anyone?”

“It’s not really a secret,” the Jew shrugged, turning the computer off. “Just try to get some sleep tonight, okay?”

The living room lamp was switched on and the light poured over the grayed kitchen. Kenny and Kyle collected their belongings and began walking toward the front door.  Stan waved at them gently while they stepped out to the long balcony.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this tomorrow,” Kyle vowed, scraping his white converse against the welcome mat.  

Eyes narrowed, Kenny dipped his chin and nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, you guys,” Stan sighed, hanging his head low. His hair was ruffled by a hand covered in colorful band-aids before he closed the door.

After the breeze from outside hits his face, Stan blew upward at the messy strands before examining some, pulling them taut between his forefinger and thumb. His dog Sparky padded around his ankles over the taupe carpet and laid next to the coffee table. Stan tugged his shirt off again and tossed it behind his back. The pants he wore is equally stripped from him. Without much given thought, he scooped his hat off and climbed out of his boxers.

While climbing onto his bed casually, Stan remembered that he became a bit of a nudist – and an exhibitionist. At first, he just slept in his room in just his shirt and boxers. Then, that manifested into just shorts, and then that eased into completely nothing. Moving out from his parents’, that hasn’t stopped Stan from taking his shirt off at meaningless events, mooning his rival team in sports, and taking a piss behind public buildings. Along with Kenny, he is the most comfortable amongst their friends when it comes to being  _au naturel_  with his body.

There’d still be something offensive about being shared online to random strangers, that Stan didn’t get, but he would gladly jump into a pool with a couple of pals in his birthday suit – if given the right location and chance. He’s had Craig take him in public and has done things even before he has dated him. Stan rolled on his side, glancing through the partly drawn curtains across from him in the dark bedroom.

Cheek resting on his palm with his eyes hooded, he wondered what took Craig so long to return to him. A small frown over his lips when he pulled his phone up to send him a worried text. Stan lowered the device and rolled on his shoulders. He didn’t want to do that. In fact, Stan was pretty sure Craig didn’t like him begging unless they were undressed together. He didn’t ask, but he knew it. Over a minute of sulking and debating if he should press send or not, and he deleted his message.  

The phone was placed below the pillow next to him and his other hand drifted below his navel. Stan touched the fresh hickey over his neck, imagining Craig’s mouth pulling over the sensitive skin, while he tilted his hips up slightly upwards, looking past his chest. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. The pads of his fingers drifting slowly until the heat of his skin touched the heel of his palm. Stan coiled his fingers around his cock and jerked it slowly in his hand at a steady pace. Multitasking with the other, Stan pulled a small bottle of lube out from the side drawer and squeezed a fair amount over him.

Sapphire eyes fluttered shut. He pushed his head back against the pillows and gasped, slicking his fingers quick and furious pumps. The tight muscles on his stomach clenched and loosened, while he desperately clung to the pillow with one hand.  

**Big Brother :)**

**Today 8:20 pm**

_{@ the mini-mart?}_

**Today 8:20 pm**

_{No? We’re still @ the balcony. Where r u?}_

Karen hit send, sitting at a folding chair next to Tricia.

“I can’t believe they forgot us,” the strawberry blonde said dryly, looking at her phone.

After a testy glance, she kept silent after that and brought herself up to the glass doors that led to the darkened bedroom. While firmly gripping the handle with her hand, mascaraed green eyes bulged out slightly. The teen froze.

Traces of emotion fading from her face, though her cheeks hummed a different legacy. Completely dark red and contradicting with her self-contained nature, Tricia Tucker is rattled. Entirely immobilized, torpid. She asked herself if she should look away – what else does she know about Stan Marsh?

He played sports, yes. Tricia knew this. Talk of the town, his twitching muscles are living proof. Many years of practice showed on his body. In fact, only one word came to mind whenever she sees him since she’s seen him shirtless.  _Abs_. Superficial was her game to an extent. The false facets of entering early adolescence, these things Tricia would try to ignore.  _Yet…_   

“What’s the matter?” the girl called softly to her best friend.

Stan pinched his sac and rolled them between his fingers, his toned body counteracting with thrusting against his hand. Chewing his lip inside his mouth, his whimpers dissolved into low moans. He chanted his boyfriend’s name over and over again, while his fingers plunged in and out of his ass. Her brother’s name. She couldn’t hear it from the window, but she could read it from his lips. Entranced, oddly captivated from it.   

He murmured,  _fuck me_ , before he shamelessly wagged his tongue out. The fantasy of catching Craig’s hot semen that drizzled him all over his face quickly brought him over the edge. Another violent twitch from his hips and his ejaculate spilled over his stomach, splashing his shoulder and chest. A mixture of lust and satiation over Stan’s glowing complexion. The nineteen-year-old draped his forearm over his head, breathing choppily. His stomach is glazed with a sheen of sweat and he fell back again.

“Tricia.”  

“Fuck.”

Heart racing a hundred miles an hour, the girl in the mint green coat noticed Stan is no longer lying on top of his bed, and he retreated in the bathroom.

“Coast is clear,” she spoke quickly, avoiding Karen’s peculiar glance. Being Kenny’s sister, she probably has already figured it out.

“All right.”

Tricia slid the glass door open. “C’mon.”

 

* * *

 

 

Token and Clyde wheezed, dropping their shoulders, as a hand or two would rest on their knees. It’s been a couple of blocks that they ran. For not being in any sports teams currently, Craig was undeniably a quick sprinter. They finally caught up with him again, well almost. Token pats Clyde’s back as he leaned over and coughed out more phlegm. Their throats dry and lungs set aflame while they slowed toward the green street sign.  Wiping the drool from his lip, Clyde lifted his head up to see that Token wordless and in shock.

“We went through this before. I thought we were pretty clear about it, that we won’t fight anymore,” Craig’s voice bled through the air. “I have a message to send, and you guys are blocking the way.” He flipped his knife in his hand again. “So, tell me who’s it gonna be. Who wants to try out my new knife?”

The boys behind his shoulders straightened their postures.

“Will it be you,” Craig threatened, pointing the blade,  “or your painfully unattractive friend over there?!”

“Shit,” applauded the twenty-year-old in the dark coat. “Straight out of the horse’s ass. I bet you thought about that three seconds ago, you mean-spirited poltroon.”

Firkle made indirect eye-contact toward his front left.

“Um, Craig. Just so you know, I’m not punching the kid,” Token said.

“Please let us through. We’re friends with Tweek,” Clyde urged, clasping his hands to his chin.  “We don’t want any trouble.”

He brought a shoe forward and Craig blocked him with his arm.  

“We already know who you guys are,” Michael said. “We’re from the same fucking town.”

“So, what’s your issue with Craig?” the preppy jock asked, glancing upright.

“This Craig ‘douchebag’ has caused our friend a lot of pain…” Firkle said coldly. His haunted black eyes glitter like shiny black beetles, flicking up from his blade.    

“Not the good kind of pain, either,” said the other goth.   

Token makes light of it. “Oh, Craig does that to everyone.”  

“Yeah, he does,” Clyde said with a wobbly grin, showing his dimples. “Who’s your friend? Er… the one we caused pain to.”

“Pete,” Michael revealed, sliding his thumb up the handle of his knife. “and that’s more than enough for you guys to know. Matter of fact, let’s just skip the faggy dramatics and end this. The sooner we stab this guy, the sooner we get to visit that haunted house next weekend.”

“I’ll make it as dirty as I can possible,” Firkle mumbled coolly. “We’ll decorate the sidewalk with your lacerated and mutilated corpse, and use your bloody intestines as puppet strings. Pretty soon there will be nothing left but the sounds of you be choking in your own plasma when I slice your jugular vein and slash your eyes. There will be nothing left but your torn remains and the malodorous odor of your flesh decaying in the town’s air. As people will ignore your tormented cries for help, I’ll slowly cut your dick–”

“Okay. Okay, Firkle. That’s enough,” the tall goth sighed. “Let’s go ahead already. Your mom wants you back before nine.”

“All right! Let’s do this!”

“Craig, no!” Token and Clyde screamed in unison.

The hunting knife slashed through the air. Arms reached and hooked beneath Craig’s underarms. Clyde closed his eyes tightly. He whimpered, eyes screwed shut. Then, he said a prayer aloud, deeply afraid Craig's blade would slice his face off, and that he will never be pretty again.

A trash bag dropped in front of two feet. “ _Gah!_  Jesus Christ!”  

“Craig’s back,” Michael turned around, facing Tweek Tweak who just now stepped toward the street.

“I know, I can see that,” the blond shared. “A good friend of mine texted me.”

Token glanced over at one side and Clyde looked down, embarrassed. “Sorry, Craig. I got worried.”

“Since when the fuck did you guys turn into henchmen?” spoke the barista to the eccentric pair. “I can handle – ngh – him myself. Come on in, we’ll discuss it.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh shit, it’s Craig!” Butters yelled from the front of the café building. “Craig’s here! – Eric!”

Overwrought with disarray and panic, the bumbling flaxen shifted back and forth nervously on his feet. The two people he spoke to earlier seemed to vanish. Mouth dry, Butters’ lips were instantly concealed and muffled by a large arm. A strong grip from a male and a set of smaller hands pulled him out the front door.    

“Here’s good enough,” Tweek said, waving goodbye to another employee who was finished washing dishes. He twitched slightly.

Craig, Token, and Clyde had followed him to the backroom of his coffee shop.  

“We need to talk,” the teen in front of the two other boys said.

The young coffee shop owner grunted. “If that’s not completely obvious.”

“We gotta go,” Michael signaled, arm rested on Firkle’s shoulder.

“See you guys,” Tweek waved as they stepped past the doorframe.

“So, there’s this app going around all over the place, where people can upload videos of their old boyfriends and girlfriends doing things with their uhm, privates…” Token explained.

“Craig’s in it and he’s kinda mad,” Clyde looked down. “He thinks it’s you.”

“And he needed  _you guys_  to explain it, for – grh – me?” the blond blinked, irritated. “You couldn’t just say so yourself?” Turning around, a bit snappish. “Typical, Craig. Typical.”

A brick wall, a stick in the mud, a robot. Craig didn’t communicate well and it showed. Fake, his gentle side was all fake. Craig was never a nice guy. Rutting in the sack and cruel excitement hardly counted to Tweek Tweak either.

While dating him, there’d been many times where Tweek judged and tested his empathy. It was like one of those phases he had in the 11th or 12th grade, but in this case, it would be a lot worse, because he couldn’t remember why he ever became friends with him. Why were they ever friends? The whole dating thing really scrambled his mind. That insouciance and inconsiderate act he pulled. All those years Tweek thought he could adjust to it. That, they could get to know each other.  

It wasn’t about Craig not being a dick to him, it was about Craig a dick to everyone else. That never seemed to change. He’ll never change.  _He’ll never change._

“You’re the only person I gave those to,” the noiret said, expressionless. The pictures. The pictures, they didn’t matter to Tweek. Craig’s disinterested gaze. His green eyes looked like they belonged to a dead man. He was going to act up anytime. He was still cold-blooded as ever. “I didn’t give them to anyone else.”

“You see?! That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about! He doesn’t feel anything, man!” Tweek blurted.

“So… Are we gonna take the videos down, or…” Clyde trailed off.

“I have a better question,” Craig rose up from the stool he pulled aside and sat on. His arms unfolded under his broad shoulders. “Did you upload those videos of me in that app, Tweek? Or, was it someone else?”

“And what if he did?” Pete challenged from the store’s front counter.

“Then that’s kinda… effed up?” the only brunet in the room added.

Craig was playing with a butter knife now. “So, did you do it?”

“No,” his ex-boyfriend replied firmly. “I just got rid of them.”

“Well, that solves it,” Clyde expressed succinctly, slapping his hands against his knees, stepping down from his stool. “Let’s go, Craig. Maybe if we’re fast enough, we can interrogate Cartman. I think I saw him around the corner with Butters.”

“I gave them away to somebody we all know,” Tweek admitted. With that, he said promptly, matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t the one who uploaded them.” Clyde closed his mouth and the blond continued. “I’ve seen that you’re still a little insensitive shit on your feed. Today’s the last straw. You need to be taught a –  _rrh_  – lesson, Craig. ‘Cause when you go through life, there’s a little thing called consequence… and when you don’t learn from these consequences…”

“So, it was  _you!_  You’re the one that said I cheated on there!”

“Because you  _fucking did!”_ the barista shrieked.  

Tweek squeezed his hands so tight, he almost broke skin and drew blood. All of his tremblings went straight to his balled fists. Forcing himself to intervene, Pete stepped forward and placed his hand over Tweek’s shoulder. He sincerely wanted to calm his freckled and flushed face down. Remembering that his boyfriend really cared about his business a lot, he didn’t want to see him drive away his customers, being upset.

 _Boy, how times have changed,_ he reminded himself. Stepping forward, if there is ever a moment where Pete felt really out of place – like a sore thumb, and he didn’t belong, it would be right now. He already missed his goth friends, terribly. On the other hand, Tweek was well-worth going through some disasters too. He had a bright outer appearance, but underneath it all, he was all Hell. Very appealing to Pete. Pete would do anything for him.  

The red goth motioned his hand to the open door that led to the back.

“Okay, that’s enough for today. I think you guys should go.”

Token sighed, patting Tweek’s other shoulder. “Sorry, dude.”

Craig stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “All right, I’ll leave.” He flicked his hand forward, knocking over utensils. They rattled and clanged against the ceramic tiles.  “I’ll find a way to get rid of them myself.”

By the door panel, he preened. “You can  _suck my dick_.”

“Your dick is trash,” Tweek breathed out, scowling at his direction. His ears burned and his lungs constricted in his chest, feeling Craig’s face harden when he turned around. If he didn’t walk any faster, he was going to hurl something at him.  

Token was the first to step out. Clyde threw his arm over Craig’s back, oblivious that his best friend raised his middle finger, as they made their way past the stacked boxes toward the exit. This time it wouldn’t be his hidden sign language of amour. Tweek stabbed a lump of dough with a cold fork and grated his teeth.

 

* * *

 

 

The trio walked around the corner and a brown paper bag blew around their feet. Craig slanted his lips, hunching his shoulders up with his hands pressed inside his pockets in his joggers. He pulled his iPhone out from the front of his hoodie and scrolled through his contacts. Token sighed.

“So, that went well,” Clyde chuckled nervously. He jogged, catching up to his best friend. Damn those long legs.  

“What are you talking about, Clyde? It went exactly the way I thought it did.”

Craig switched from cocky to easygoing again. 

“Can you drive me to my car, Token? I gotta make a call first.”

“Sure Craig.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
Clean water droplets rolled from the strands of Stan’s hair. Towel around his neck, he flipped through the  _Seventeen_  magazine one of the girls left behind while the inky strands on his head blew underneath the cool setting of a hair dryer. The Nutella residue is completely gone. A minor nuisance, though he didn’t mind shampooing and conditioning the twice within a twelve-hour span. Stan gazed through most of the articles behind the cover, uninterested. An annoyance worth pestering about when he felt like his stomach growled for the infinite time that day. Stan sorely wished there were something edible in the refrigerator. He frowned at the time on his phone in dismay and hung his head back.

 _Nope, don’t call him_ , he said in his brain.  _I can manage here on my own, by myself. Maybe I’ll just –_

The phone rumbled. “Babe?”

 _Goddamnit_.

Alert, Stan had the phone pressed to his ear, bringing his body up. Answering swiftly, he hardly recalled swiping his right thumb. This would be just like that antsy feeling he had, anticipating who’d call first when they lived in separate houses. Only, more than half the time it killed him, and he would almost fail everytime.

“Hey, babe,” Stan leaned back in his seat, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”  

“So, I may have had a minor discrepancy with Tweek today,” Craig said from the other line.

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You guys didn’t break anything, did you?” sighed the blue-eyed teen, flipping through another page.

“No.”

“What time you comin’ home?”

“Soon.”

That could be another hour. Stan remembered how Craig liked to take his time with things and frowned at the one-worded response. He could hear the cars passing by behind his boyfriend and the wind blowing through the smartphone.

“Well, I guess you already know we checked the app and stuff, judging from what happened. You can lay it all on me, once you get here – when we look at it together, that is.”

“’Kay,” exhaled Craig. A small moment to gather his thoughts while he conjures up a new plan in his head. Small talk was still never his thing, though, he would insist here at this instant. “What are you doing now?”

“Same ol’ same ol’. I’m just alone watching a zombie movie,” Flipping another page.  “I kinda wanna blow you.”

The corners of Craig’s lips twitched into a smile. “Just kinda?”

“I want you to skull fuck me.”

“Ah, that’s better. I just might take you up on that.” Holding that smile, Craig picked up a brick he found on the sidewalk and analyzed it, before weighing it in his palm. Still, he cradled his phone to his face with his other hand, flirting. “Your gag reflex is shit, though. What should I do about it?”

“Pinch my nose until I can’t breathe.”

The older boy licked his lips. He truly loved how unabashed and evil Stan gets at times.

“Craig, get in.” Token’s voice came through. While turning down the music, he rolled down the windows in his SUV. He took notice of the molded block of clay in his hand, ultimately knowing what’s going to happen if they stick around too long. In spite of the fact that he’s wrecked about the whole thing, Clyde was sitting patiently in passenger’s seat with a glum look on his face. An upbeat Travis Scott song was playing through the speakers while Token rolled the vehicle near the broken newspaper dispenser that Craig stood next to.

 

* * *

 

 

  
“…what? An Aquarius, really?” Pete said incredulously, holding Tweek’s head to his chest. “He’s more of a Capricorn to me, I’ll have to ask Henrietta.”

“ _Argh!_  No, his birthday’s in late January,” the blond corrected. Fingers fidgeting next to his apron pocket, Tweek pulled out a bag of pop rocks and began throwing it on the concrete floor after he slid down from his boyfriend’s arms and stepped underneath the doorframe of his back room.

The other gentleman walked further outside. A single lighter with was picked from the pocket of Pete’s slacks. Silver, embossed with a demon gargoyle on it, sitting with its wings were partially spread. Pete flicked the top lid open with a cigarette butt between his dry lips and raised it to the small flame. An ember hue of the fire coruscated over the gloss over his irises and his pale face. He took a long and slow drag, eyes cemented to the ground. The goth inched forward to take another puff and a stealthy hand reached over to him, snatching his cigarette away from him.

Pete’s mouth parted. It’d be equivalent to having his eyeliner wiped off. No sound emitted from him when he gasped.  “Easy there, angel. You could’ve asked.”

Tweek brought the stick up to his mouth and took two swift puffs. He exhaled and stared at the dirtied planks leaning against a fence that covered the cinderblock wall by a group of trash cans. Inhaling big, the blond took another drag, which flustered his boyfriend’s pale cheeks in concern. Pete cared deeply enough to give him a pet name, he would surely let his guard down for him and offer more when he’s in a stressed situation. Conformist or not, he really cared about him. He’s gotten more lenient with his image over the years.

“Babe, babe, slow down.”

This would never be in the cards, Pete didn’t want to see him this way. The vision of Tweek Tweak smoking in front of him was entirely upsetting. It wrenched at his heart. In fact, he and his group of friends have always been turned down, whenever they offered Tweek a smoke. The image before him is extremely stressful and unordinary. The smaller boy was clearly vexed. Tweek raised the cigarette his pink lips again.

A skull-splitting scream followed by a piercing shattering noise from inside the coffeehouse ripped Tweek out of his thoughts. Dropping the cigarette on the ground, Tweek jolted up from the steps while Pete puts the stick out. 

Tweek dropped his arms to his waist and his face dulled at the sight of crystal fragments dripping down in front of his shop. Some spread at the sides of the store’s window scattered to the floor. He brought himself forward and heard glass crunch under his feet. The only other employee he hasn’t dismissed froze there, staring in utter shock.

“Crazy thugs,” commented the worker.

“Those guys, I bet it was them,” Pete accused.       

Nose wrinkled in utter disgust, Tweek twisted and moved in a blur of motion to the back of the room again, avoiding looks from customers that stood by. Pete swiftly stalked after him and put his hand over his. “Don’t call the cops yet. I’ll rally my allies – we can deal with it.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

Through the rummaging of paper in a small drawer beside disorganized cabinets, Tweek yanked out a .44 Magnum rifle and loaded his tiny bullets into the cylinder.

A click after the twist. An arm’s length away, Tweek pressed the muzzle between his boyfriend’s eyebrows and aimed quietly, looking at him square in the face. Eyes like a foggy forest in Oregon, Pete’s deeper pigmented greens lift up at Tweek’s. 

“Wow dude, you’re crazy,” whispered the goth, unshaken.

Tweek retracts the gun.

“And I always thought you were a good kid,” Pete said huskily. Well, that’s a half lie. Considering how quirky and full of shit they were together in the beginning. Although, this still surprised him. Mannerisms and all. “I’m so turned on right now.”

“That can wait. Follow me.” Another tic, Tweek jerked slightly. “We’re closin’ early.”

 

* * *

 

 

Pete stood casually with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket.

_Pop!_

_Pop – Pop!_

The air of the tires on a Hatchback Prius deflate slowly between a Ford Explorer and a poorly painted 1970’s Dodge Caravan in a public parking building. Pete tilted his face up at his partner, who fired the rounds from his small pistol with both arms raised. Tweek clenched his teeth when he missed and made the license plate go slanted.  _Pew!_  He trembled and his eyes flit when the bullet bounced off the numbers on it.

“ _A fucking Prius?_  Seriously, can this guy get any douchier?” Pete cried in disbelief.

“He always had it. He drove it at our old school.”

“Oh.”

Tweek looked down.

“Man, it’s too bad he’s such a downer. He’s actually kinda hot,” Pete said, flipping his hair.  

“What the fuck, man?”

“I mean… for a conf-”

Nervous laughter. “Yeah, well. His personality’s still – ng – sh-shit.”

“Right. Oh my god,” Pete regretted that instantly. Minor nausea, gloomily looking at a smashed cigarette butt by his foot. “Don’t mention that to anyone, ever.”

“Don’t think I will. Grh – that cuntwaffle doesn’t need any more asspats and verbal handjobs.”

The urge to converse some more was cut short abruptly. Against the support beams in a parkade, the couple noticed a pair of headlights spreading over a wall and then shrinking.

“Crap! Let’s go!” Tweek replied.

Though it took him some time to budge because of his bad nerves, Pete grabbed his hand and they raced out of the building. 

 

* * *

  

_“Get that damn screwdriver out of my head!”_

Stan rolled his eyes. Cheek planted on his palm, he was watching a vintage film playing on a LED flatscreen. Only a couple of minutes and he’ll be home. At least, that’s what Craig said. That was from the recent text. Hunched forward with a pillow tucked under his chin, Stan’s eyes glazed over a bit when another commercial from Taco Bell aired. All the lights in the entire house are turned off. It’d just be him and the ghostly filter from the television projecting in front of him. The electric light flickered against the wall. Balancing the remote in his hand, he ponders what channel to flip it to next, before settling with the movie again.       

Though, he has sat through worse. The lineup that week wasn’t completely bad.  It’s either that, MTV, or ESPN. Watching television wasn’t really a great pastime to the teen. Terrance and Phillip, purely being the only thing he ever looked forward to before he hit adolescence. A fantasy like Game of Thrones, the Syfy channel, HBO and  _Cinemax_  –  _in small dosages_  – thanks to Butters. They actually had to cancel that plan. It’s just basic cable now.

Stan inwardly groaned at the lack of food in the icebox and the cupboards. He glanced at his phone again.

**love of my life**

**Today 9:01 pm**

_{bring food}_

**Today 9:07 pm**

_{What kind?}_

**Today 9:07 pm**

_{idc whatever.}_

_{anything but hamburger helper. 🙏}_

_{i’m not eating that again.}_

**Today 9:07 pm**

_{:**}_

Always late with texts, with anything. It wasn’t that Stan didn’t mind that much from Craig, except he kind of did. Craig didn’t have to be perfect, but he’ll have to make it up to him somehow. He must have had a hell of a day. All Stan remembered was that they parted that afternoon and then the sky’s suddenly black. Part of it to blame, because of his nap.

He fluttered his lashes, hearing a set of knuckles bump against his door. Stan propped himself on his elbow on the arm of the couch before walking up to twist the doorknob. He peeked through the blinds by the kitchen sink and noticed his blue Prius wasn’t parked at the floor level parking lot.

In addition to that, the will to smile has lowered down significantly for Stan, when he noticed a man in a Ninja Turtles shirt that didn’t quite fit right, green flip-flops, and a fedora hat giving him the stink-eye.

“Is this your dog’s leash?” pronounced the guy in an orotund.

Stan gawked at the accusatory frown, answering with a shrug. “I mean, I guess.”

His eyes lined up with the angry face as he curled the item that’s been forcefully shoved to his chest in his palm. Thinking he hit a red flag, Stan had totally forgotten that he answered the door without a shirt on. Not that it really mattered or anything. A half-lidded side glance at the item he clutched.

“Do you remember me?” the gentleman bounded forward, the powerful scent of Gold Bond powder rising from him.

“Um, yeah sir, not really.” Stan narrowed his eyes, uninterested, getting ready to close his door. Even if the guy is roughly ten or fifteen years older than him, he did address him as such.  _Sir_. Now, secretly wishing he’d take it back.

The man in the ponytail and glasses pointed behind his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m Jedd Pierce from the blue house on 16th. You know,  _the one by the park?_ ”

“’Kay?”

“You walk your dog by my parents’ place every other Sunday. Your dog is the one in the pink little handkerchief, the gay one.”

“Umm, I guess.” Eyebrows raised, Stan wondered why bringing up his dog’s sexuality was important – and then it hit him. Of course. “Oh- uh! He gets excited sometimes. If he violated some of your pets, I’m really sorry about that.”

“No, not that!” 

Stan’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Our front lawn is filthy with so much of his – feces! I’m warning you right now, if you don’t clean it up, it’s not gonna end well for you. One week, bucko! You’ve got one week to pick it all up, or I’ll tie your balls in a knot, and punch you in the face with my foot.”

Half-open eyelids droop lower. Apathetic with no pleasure in arguing back, Stan’s mouth pressed into a small line and he drifted off into a daydream. Because he sees  _him_.

Craig was strolling toward the door, holding a huge bouquet and two grocery bags in his other arm. The random 1980’s melody  _Head Over Heels_  by  _Tears for Fears_  suddenly overlapped the haranguing misfit that blasted his voice at him. Stan’s lips turned upward into a slight smile. It was like that frigid anger he held in for minutes late have melted from his head off his shoulders, just by looking at him. Setting the groceries down, the taller noiret waved at his friends from a four-door vehicle down at the parking space below.

Apart for wanting to question why Craig’s car isn’t anywhere in sight, Stan thought his boyfriend looked very irresistible, the total opposite way he felt at South Park. There was no need to constantly remind himself – they’ve already been over the enemies bit ages ago. They fucked it out. Albeit the contrasting personalities, nostalgia has still been a very wonderful and enticing element for them. Foggy daydream put to a brief pause, a spray of saliva hit Stan’s soap-cleansed chest.

“Dude!”

“Hi, cookie. Look what I got for you,” Craig interrupted, elbowing himself rudely between the angry townsman to get to Stan. The guy nearly lost balance. Dipping downward, Craig pooched his lips at the younger teen. Stan pressed his mouth to his to seal the kiss. Which, quickly evolved into them slowly making out. Coiling his fingers, Stan tugged on the t-shirt in front of him. Craig’s navel showed beneath the lifted hem.

“Hey! Hey, faggot!”

They each held their middle fingers up to the human being in front of them while their lips were still connected.

Stan removed his hands from each side of Craig’s face and licked his own lips.

“What’s this?” he asked dumbly, looking down at the silky curled ribbon.

“Your present. Read the card.”

“Um, hey,” the stranger crossed his arms. “We’re you listening or not? I didn’t waste gas driving all the way down here so I can be ignored! Are you fucking done?”

 _“Who the hell are you?”_ Craig turned, asking brashly.

“Just some dude that’s mad at me. Sparky pooped in his lawn or something. It’s no biggie,” Stan shrugged, taking the card in his hands. “I’ll clean it up on my way to drills. Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Oh-All right, then. That’s more like it,” the man uttered with an air of superiority, stepping back. “My house, tomorrow morning.”  

“Yeah, whatever man.”

Finally, the man backed off and walked himself down the second level of the complex. Craig shot the agitated visitor a dirty look before swinging the light bags of groceries inside the apartment home. With Sparky’s leash dangling from the corner of his elbow, Stan skims the cursive printing in gold letters that had “To” and “From” encrypted on it. He unfolds the paper.

 

_“Your deep blue eyes are like the milky way._

_I can get lost in those pools for days._

_To many more months to come._

_Darling babe, you are the one.”_

_Love, Craig xo_

 

Right about now, Stan would be floating high on a big and pink glittery cloud. That’d be the second gayest thing he thought about day. The corners of his eyes well up in tears and his hard felt like it was heavy with lead.  

“Hey, I got the ice-cream you wanted,” announced the teen, pulling out groceries on the small table of the kitchen. “I bought vanilla too. Hope you don’t mind chicken, they were kind of on sale… Well, they always are.”

A set of arms coiled around Craig’s waist and he felt Stan lay his face against him. The organ in his chest plummeted, hearing a small sniffle. Stan’s youthful cheek and his tousled raven hair nuzzled against his spine.  

“Babe?”

“Mm?”

“Are you crying?” Craig asked softly.

“No, you’re just really corny, dude. That’s all.”

Craig’s eyebrow twitched. “Dude?”

“ _Mon chatte_ ,” Stan mimicked in a French accent teasingly, kissing the clothes literally on Craig’s back, his tears dampening it. Translation:  _My pussy_. After snidely slipping out the syllables, he hugged his arms around his partner’s torso.

Craig turned pink from the neck up, pinching his lips flatly together. “Fuck off.”

Stan exhaled a laugh and sniffed him. There was a mixture of fruity vape and a faint smell of marijuana coming from the hoodie.

“Awe. I made somebody  _cwanky_.” Voice returning to normal. “Y’know my dad would blow a gasket if he could smell you right now.”

“Oh,” the older teen said shortly, scrubbing his hands with lemon dishwashing soap and water in the sink. “A gasket, huh? I guess that’s not the only thing your dad blows.”

“Dude, dick jokes aren’t funny,” Stan remarked, not even offended. Also, forgetful about the French thing. The thing is way over his head, now. He snorted. “Dick.”

“Bitch.”

With both arms crossed over his bare chest, Stan looked away. Craig reached for the bargain brand paper towels and dropped his hands to his hips. Mute, just like that.

Silence enveloped them. Then, secret smiles sprout over their faces. Both wouldn’t back down for defeat. It was just one of their special moments, where everything is perfect and left unsaid. Turning around first, Craig hooked his fingers underneath Stan’s chin, and turned him gently to look at him. Eyes pressed shut, he tilted his head sideways, deliberately brushing his lips over Stan’s.

Their mouths connect again. This kiss is less rushed than the other one, Craig still pushed toward the other boy insistently. Stan opened his mouth slowly to receive a sweeping of his tongue. His arms came up and gripped the back of Craig’s shoulders. Clutching the back of his light jacket at first, and then twisting the fabric in his hands. Stan stifled a pained sound when the bruise on his hip bumped against the counter. Craig’s hand came over it and caressed it.

He could feel him through his pants. Craig’s cock rose hard and thick, pressed against Stan’s stomach and through the elastic of his pants. At any cost, the double-layer of clothing he chose was completely at null yet again. Boxers, drawstring pants. It was almost summer. He dressed airier.

On lazy days, any person could say that Craig’s wardrobe can be one dimensional. Dressed to the nines occasionally for a broke college kid, Craig could still pull off wearing just a cotton shirt and sweats.

Inwardly thanking himself for ceremoniously washing up before he left the apartment. Ass-to-mouth to them was more of a heads or tails thing, it didn't really matter. 

“Babe, you’re killin’ my boner,” Stan said, suddenly on the floor. “Are you gonna keep standing there or are you gonna throat fuck me?”

Craig dipped his chin, his pensiveness morphed into a glower. Fire shot straight to his groin as he ripped his boxers down and he cock sprang out of them. There’d be pent-up anger from seeing his ex. Empty threats, overall, from each of them. Hearing Stan’s voice again made Craig hard again. Twisting his fingers through his black hair, he held his cock in his hand.

“What do you think?”  

 

* * *

 

 

  
3:33 on the digital clock. The electric blue letters glowed on the silver plastic-molded device over a nightstand. On the walls, ceilings, and headboard, glow in the dark stars and planets glowed in diluted yellow-green hues. Bedroom almost pitch black, the stickers stuck out just like dim fireflies. Just like Craig’s old bedroom.

In the interim of laying over his boyfriend’s sleeping form, Stan pulled out his own iPhone to view the app that Eric Cartman reveled in the previous morning. Vividly remembering the thumbnail of Craig with his pants down to his calves on the website, Stan decided to download the application on his phone. Though he and his boyfriend made a pact to look at it together, sex may have gotten in the way again. Stan was still itching to see if his anxiety is just a hoax.

“What are you doing?”

Small wince. “Jesus Christ. Can’t a guy watch Pornhub without being harassed?”

“You’re horny again?”

Even better question. Why was Stan watching porn without him?

Craig’s frown deepened and he raised a glare that screamed his everlasting _I’m everything you’ll ever need, bitch_ thoughts. Rather angry and ashamed that he didn’t know telepathy, Craig’s face seethed apple-red for the eighteenth time. He really hated when Stan did that, make him fucking blush.  

“N – ”  Stan grabbed himself under the blanket and widened his child-like eyes. “Whoa. Oh shit, I really am.”

“Go back to sleep. I’m pretty sure you have drills in a couple of hours.”

The boy pulled Craig’s arm off of him and slid away to the opposite end of the mattress. Stan fluffed his pillow. His eyelids soon become heavy.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

With closed eyes, Stan found his nose with his hand. “I miss my septum ring… do you think I should get another one?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Revised Again?:** Yup, that's right. I changed the ass-to-mouth rules with them. Craig is dirty in canon, so it wasn't right for me to vent my own concern in this story. This kid would **eat ass** when he's older and probably kiss you when he's done. 😂🤣 So, with that being said... there will be plenty more lewd stuff later on. Please continue. xx ~


	6. Straight Shooters pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Boys with good aim._  
> 

_Early November, 3 years ago..._

“21, 54, 32! Hut hut! Hike!”

Kyle Broflovski sat at the third row in the metal bleachers with a platinum netbook resting on his lap. A length away, Eric Cartman snickered and sneered with his phone up to his ear above him. The grass on the football field still maintained some of its life, despite it being a plain and dour afternoon in South Park, Colorado.

Slipping out a spiral notebook behind Kyle, Eric began jotting down the notes he saw in the poorly positioned monitor. It looked dim from his view. Disregarding the other student looming over him, Kyle raised his steel tumbler up to his lips and sipped slowly at the hot cocoa that spilled over the rim. Many years of being used to it, he’d be far less concerned with the brunet copying off of his homework. Things that current year turned out nicely for him so far.

In a neon drop sleeve tank-top, Clyde leaped up in the air. Flashing a toothy grin toward the girls in the bottom row bleachers, Clyde caught the football and dashed to the other side of the yard pretending to be The Flash. His clothes ruffled from the strong current of wind that whipped against his face and chestnut hair, while his strong legs carried his body through the field. The land interrupted by a smear of red and white. Like a wildcat on the prowl, Stan appeared unexpectantly and sprung forward, colliding against Clyde’s hipbone. The brunet barely had time to react when the other teen toppled over him.  

Some awareness regained, Clyde gasped when the faux leather nearly slipped from his grip. He hurled the ball just in time toward his teammate, Douglas, who caught it. Arms still locked around Clyde, Stan’s brows furrowed when the boy in the gray beanie began sprinting toward the goal.

“Gay!”

Kyle glared at Cartman’s outburst and went back to skimming through the PowerPoint Presentation he edited for a class project.

“God, that looks so easy,” Cartman mumbled, dusting cat hair away from his light jacket.

“Then why don’t you play then, fatass?” Kyle said in annoyance.  

“Nah. Don’t wanna end up with itchy balls or somethin’. Those cups those guys wear would give me a rash, forget it.”

The redhead frowned, rolling his eyes.

Cartman noticed. “What?”

“Well, there’s still a great opportunity for you to join now. Your ass is bigger than half the field. You’d be a great linebacker someday, blocking with that ginormous body.”

Brown eyes shimmered. “Really Kahl, you think so?”

“Nope.”

That quickly gauged a negative reaction. The grumbles and the offensive slurs from the heavyset student were barely audible to a small pack of students that strolled over the maroon colored track field. Along with a small entourage following behind him, Craig Tucker toggled the lens of his Canon 7D camera, lifting it in his two hands. He had it attached to a strap hanging securely around the back of his neck. Tweek Tweak grabbed a hold of his hand again as his boyfriend lifted his head up, scoping out the field. 

“Okay, everybody. Spread out,” Craig instructed with a wave of a wrist, holding a clipboard.

The two students next to them part their ways. One left to the stadium’s parking lot, the other walked toward the small group of cheerleaders that were stretching at the bottom row of the bleachers. Their white sneakers clashed brightly with the sunlight.

“It’s hard work, I bet,” commented a girl by Craig’s shoulder. “You’re on the school paper, the yearbook team, have an impressive GPA, and this week you’re scheduled to take pictures of next week’s game. How do you manage it all?”

The noiret stated dryly, pulling his face away from a drink Tweek offered. “Lots of water and a good night’s rest.”

The young woman nodded taking note of that with a slight smile, bringing down her ballpoint pen. Craig moved away from her, scoping out more of the field. After selecting the filter he wanted on his Canon, he aimed his camera at the football field.  He took air and ground snapshots of his friend Clyde reaching for the ball. Craig lowered the expensive device and aimed it elsewhere after the brunet tripped on the neon green lace of his own shoe. Tweek winced at their friend’s fall and his boyfriend gave his hand a light and reassuring squeeze.

“I was open,” cried Stan. “Why didn’t you guys pass it to me?”

“Gotta quit hoggin’ the ball,” Token grinned, walking past him.

A wronged glare was shot at the group of teammates by the sensitive quarterback. Though Stan’s asthma has cleared up significantly during his adolescence, with intense activities such as these, his breathing still came out in fits and starts.

Lifting his body upward, Stan stretched the hem of his white top and brought it up his brow. More weight on one foot as he stood, he dabbed his forehead with the cloth. His bare chest and the dents of his abs glisten with a layer of sweat that he gained from running. As his stomach flexed while he breathed. Many heads turned to gaze at the star athlete’s lean and sturdy physique. While Stan caught his breath slowly, he'd be in his own shell, as comments were being exchanged about him.

A half a yard away, a girl with short curly hair leveled her light blue pupils at him.

“Mmm mmm mmm, that’s one boy I’ll eat up,” Annie Knitts said aloud, lustily, “with whipped cream and a spoon.”

“Don’t be trashy, he’ll hear,” her friend shushed her.   

Stan pulled his shirt off from his back and tossed it to the grass. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he carded his hand through his pitch-black hair and squinted at the sun with his striking blue eyes. Taking that as a green light, Clyde grinned and pulled his own shirt over his head and applied on some more Axe body spray over his bronze skin. He was muscular as well. Brawny, in the least. Many hours of playing sports and sweating in the gym have paid off to him. Not a single barbell and protein shake went to waste. Revealing teeth, the boy gave a movie star smile to the girls by the bleachers, who were on their smartphones and filing their nails.

“Wow, he’s kinda hot, what’s his name?” a girl in uniform smiled back at Clyde.

“He’s looking at me again, Millie,” another cheerleader whispered in disgust.

“Isn’t that your ex?” Red replied, scrunching her nose. “Just look away and ignore him, maybe he’ll disappear.”

“That'll be the day,” Annie said.

“Ay, quit showin’ off over there!” Cartman screamed from the bleachers.

The double-chinned boy crossed his arms and huffed. What seemed like a heated conversation from above, Kyle ended the conversation on his cellphone abruptly with a swipe of his thumb. Grumbling in front of the shouting male, the Jew collected his things and slipped the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder. He stepped down from the bleachers away from Cartman and walked off toward the football field.

As the redhead in the green hat breezed past Tweek, the blond busied himself with the Drama Club kids, making small talk by a wired fence. Craig wandered further down the grassy area of the football stadium. He switched his camera to the video setting, all the while remembering to avoid a certain classmate that was on the team.

Stan Marsh scooped his shirt up from the ground and sauntered toward the cheerleaders. At that moment, time took an instant dive for Craig. Not being able to help his staring, his brain forced itself in slow-motion while the other teenager waltzed up to greet his girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger.

Surrounded by six other girls, their humble classroom president, and valedictorian twirled the stick of her candy in her hand with her boyfriend’s oversized varsity jacket over her slim shoulders. Cheeks pinkened, remembering there was a time that she was once taller than him. The girl in the beret noticed Stan coming her way.

Wendy batted her lashes kittenishly at him while the other cheerleaders traded smiles and smirks around her. With puckered lips, she touched her boyfriend’s bicep. Stan dipped in smiling, pressing his mouth against hers. Gentle touch sliding over his neck, she pulled him closer to her. Wendy was the first to break the kiss.

“Hello, Stanley,” she approached in a honeyed voice, mini-skirt rolled up peculiarly high.

The boy licked his lips. “Hey, Wends. That a Blow Pop? What flavor is it?” 

Small grin. “Cherry.”

There would be no denying, if a stranger prompted a student about Stan and Wendy up front, they would tell them that they were the star couple of their high school. Pristine, deeply in love. The frolic epitome of a ‘perfect image’. Their classmate Craig compares. Thought their tenderness was no match to what he had with Tweek. Stan and Wendy were the opposite of them.

Ideal, all American, conservative. Future homecoming king and the girl next door. Quarterback and head cheerleader. Straight. They were practically celebrities in their school, role models. For any kid that was new in town, seeing the two paired, they would easily get the jist of it. Together they were a brand. Perfect. A panned capture of Craig’s camera’s lens blurred when he brought it down from his face. Frowning, he deleted the recording of the pair.

Craig moved further away. While the girls tittered and shared gossip, Stan leaned in more closely to listen to Wendy. His sapphires looked like ‘gay ass’ topaz in the daylight. As poetic as that sounded. That’s what Craig thought. Stan shot his gaze at his classmate’s direction and the taller teen sharply averted his own eyes. That mysterious hate filled him up again. Like a toxic inferno liquid churning inside a canteen. His throat. A sudden disgustingness crawled inside his esophagus, an invisible one. To ease some of his unsteady discomfort, Craig went through the 8-bit menu options on his Canon.

Clyde suddenly appeared with his hands in the pockets of his silver basketball shorts.  

“What a bumpy ride, huh?” the brown-eyed footballer whispered to his best friend. “They’ve been on and off for seven years. I heard they’re pretty inseparable now.”

Clyde blinked excessively, peeking over one shoulder and then the other.

“Craig?”

 _Yikes. Ghosted again_ , he frowned. A harsh male’s voice broke through his relaxed thoughts.

“Donovan! Get on the field, right now!  _Move! Move! Move!”_

“You heard the guy. C’mon, tight end, let’s go,” Stan called after their coach addressed the teen. Now, jogging his way. “We’ve got one more play to do.”

Barely offended that his friend walked away, Clyde decided with a shrug that Craig Tucker has and always will be in a planet of his own when he’s paired with any other human being besides his ‘fur baby’ and boyfriend Tweek Tweak. With a slight smirk, he pulled his shirt on again and he joined Stan again for practiced and kneeled on the dry grassy field in front of him.

Token gave his water bottle back to his girlfriend before meeting up with the other players to punt the ball. He slowed his jogging, noticing Craig making an uncomfortable face at a school staff member before he ascended, walking toward the edge of the field. Tweek joined up by his side, in equal slow strides. 

“Hey,” Token said, catching up with the boy in the chullo. “What’d he say? You looked stressed over there.”

Craig parted his lips to talk.

Hands on his hips, the football coach in his Hanes two-piece sweats set rolled his eyes at Kyle Broflovski, who just whispered something in his ear. Two nods at the boy, and blew on his silver whistle hard, forming a T with his arms.

“Time out!”

“Cool, start without me,” Token mumbled in annoyance. “That’s okay. I didn’t mind at all.”

He got a glimpse of a running figure. Kyle rushed to the field, then proceeded next to prod Stan’s shoulder. With a hand behind the dusting of freckles on his bright face, he whispered something in Stan’s ear just like he did to the football coach. From the immediate interruption, the other students on the bleachers who appeared to be texting and chatting suddenly had their eyes on them. Stan bared his teeth and shifted backward, running a hand through his dark hair.

“What?! I can’t believe this. Did he really?!”

That was answered with a shrug. Shirt draped over his shoulder, Stan picked up the football on the grass and marched angrily to the side of the field. Kyle grabbed his wrist and tried to reason with him.

“Look, it’s probably not even that bad. All I’m saying is, you should probably head home.”

Token turned his head. From the track field, Wendy frowned automatically. Yawning, Bebe Stevens lowered her pompom from her face, as the boys paced back and forth with one another. It looked like Kyle tried to get his friend to listen or something. Already assuming Stan would blow up in a matter of seconds, Craig began walking away from the field. The same melodrama, showboating, and attention seeking theatrics. Craig decided that he was going to be done with it all, and take Tweek with him. His stolid green eyes seek out the paint on the parking lot and his feet moved on its own.  

“No, I’m not missing out on this because he went to prison again. I can’t believe this.”

“Well, believe it. That’s your dad, Stan, but what can you do?” Kyle responded to the fuming noiret. He stopped at that. Kyle resisted the urge to add another comment that would rub salt on the wound. More of, it’d be another blow that he’d have to endure.

Stan ripped off the t-shirt off that was resting on his shoulder and whipped it to the ground. Seeing red, only hot air came out of his nose. With barely controlled breathing, he hurled the football he was holding with all his might at a random direction instead of letting out a roar. He spun around quickly walking back to the field.

“Starting positions everybody.”

_I don’t need that kind of distraction. This is my distraction._

“Come on! New game, let’s go!” Stan clapped at the four teammates behind him, earning glares. His voice had the barest hints of roughness in it.

One of the boys chuckled, showing his teeth. “With what ball?”

“Hell no. You suck ass when you’re like this. I don’t wanna play when you’re on the rag,” Trevor Moore from Sacramento sneered with a scoff. “Fucking queer.”

“Wait a minute. What did you just call me?”

“You’re a fucking queer _._  You don’t call the shots here when we’re playing like this. Get bent, Marsh. Fuck a baseball bat. You’re useless.”

A burst of rage ignited like a wall of flames and Stan threw his arms up, screaming at the other male. The teenagers scolded at one another and Kyle took a deep breath and watched as they went at it. A string of words traded from the two quickly manifested to offensive vocabulary of sorts with profanity. Chests were being jabbed at by index fingers, insults were thrown, shoulders were pushed. Gaping at the footballers screaming at each others’ faces as Clyde captured it all on his phone.

“Such much testosterone. It reeks out here,” another girl complained.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The two friends walked away from the field, into the parking lot. Other cheerleaders rolled their eyes at the boys fighting. A few stayed there, still enamored.

Clyde continued recording. 

Token appeared with a glare behind him. “Nice goin’ you guys.”

The boy with his phone cocked his head to the side. “What. What’s up, Token?”

“Look.”

The dark-skinned boy stepped aside. His muscly jock friend ogled the two other bodies behind the sweeping arm, and the corner of his lip quirked. Gaiting slowly over to the duo, the blond Tweek Tweak had his hand over Craig’s hunched back. His boyfriend looked annoyed and pained.

A vivid scarlet liquid dribbled over the taller boy’s skin and darkened the sleeves, staining his white sweatshirt. Heavy resentment emanated dangerously from Craig. Hot tears prickling the corners of Craig’s eyes, he scowled over at the direction at self-righteous bickering Stan Marsh.

“Oh shit, whoever did that better run,” commented a student, scurrying over to Kenny holding the head of his Beaver mascot costume.

Butters, in a male cheerleader outfit, looked alarmed.

As the focus went to Craig and his bloody nose, football clutched in his hand. Stan and his equally hot-tempered teammate ceased butting heads to turn around at him.

Clyde’s focus dipped down to the inflated oval, remembering Stan’s mighty throw. A mixture of anger and shock had caused his cheeks to flood red with color, and he growled. He was going to tear the quarterback limb from limb – or, at least try to dislocate his shoulder. With violent intent, Clyde surged forward to tackle Stan, but the other boy caught his arms. A low resounding smack when his skin echoed from the catch.

He couldn’t see the bleeding figure behind him, Stan shot a bewildered look. “Clyde, what’s wrong?”

“Ask him! Look what you did to Craig!”

Kyle fumed silently, watching them go. He had it up to the chin up. Best friends being attacked is entirely off limits to him. No matter who did it first, no one was going to hurt Stan. That was established long ago. Fingernails biting into his flesh, he shot up from his spot. His knuckles popped when he balled his fists tightly. Like bird claws sinking into his skin, he could feel Token’s gaze from the side of his neck, digging into him. It would only be a matter of time until the separate childhood cliques break out into their classic feud with fists flying in broad daylight.    

“Get off of him, Clyde, I’ll deal with him myself,” Craig bossed hastily while the boys tangled their upper limbs, contempt in his face.

More than willing to indulge in watching the new bloodbath, the footballer Trevor smirked at Craig.  

“Go for it.” 

Clyde got in a good push. “Asshole!”

Gasping, Stan rocked backward and balanced himself on his feet. Behind Craig, Tweek Tweek narrowed his eyes at the quarterback. Silent murmurs from the nearby students surround them.

Hyperfocused on the rivals that locked eyes at one another, Kenny and Kyle monitored the opposing teens in case they broke into combat. Mirroring them, Token and Clyde stood behind Craig.

More blood droplets splashed into the track field and dirtied the shoelace of Craig’s laced Vans.  Stan’s mouth trembled before Craig roughly drove the football back in the jock’s arms with a hard jerk of his wrist. Stan’s vision skimmed.

In Tweek’s hands, was Craig’s camera and a compartment that broke off. Now embarrassed and mortified for that last throw. At least Stan could get some time to explain before he goes home.

 _Fuck_ , he cursed in his mind.

“Craig, look –”

“You broke my camera,” the noiret in the chullo raised his voice at him. More blood ran profusely down Craig’s nostrils, his lips, and dripped down his chin. The natural lighting from the clouds made Craig’s skin looked brighter. Like red paint sliding down a blank white canvas. For such an unordinary circumstance, it was almost attractive. Unfortunately, they didn’t like each other, and he was bleeding.

“Now’s not the time,” Stan said. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Oho, you better,” Token added.

Kyle glared at him.

“No, you’re fixing this today!” Craig scolded.

“Fuck off!” Stan fired back. He pressed his hand to his chest.  “I’m really sorry about your nose, but I have shit to do. Just have Tweek nurse it up and text me what model of that thing is if it doesn’t have a warranty to it.”

Unphased by his Bull in the China Shopact routine, Craig waited until Stan was finished.

Stating blithely, “Congratulations, you owe me a hundred dollars, and now you owe me a new camera.”

Kyle placed his hand on Stan’s back in hopes to quell some of his anger.

“Whoa, how hard did you throw it?” Butters asked in awe from a distance, an otherworldly gaze in his big blue eyes.   

“Jesus, it’s just one thing after another–”

The quarterback ran his hand down his face after his fingers slipped through his hair.  

“Calm down, Stan,” said the Jew, sensing his stress, “it’s not even that bad. Maybe you guys can negotiate.”

One of the cheerleaders, Jenny, walked to the group with a First Aid kit. Stan scowled at the box before taking it in his hand.

The angry boys walked to a secluded bench in silence after Tweek hesitantly excused himself to join up with the other Drama Club kids.

Things were out of focus from there. Rather with it all, Tweek would fight to the death for Craig to this point. He would adamantly refuse to let his boyfriend he alone with the jock for an undisclosed and disputed reason that’s only kept between them. The timing clashed with him as well. Tweek couldn’t afford to be late to another meeting. The boy halfheartedly retreated while Stan approached Craig.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t stop bleeding,” Craig said bitterly. “This is all your fault. I hate you.”

Knee against the platinum bench, Stan ignored that statement and he leaned in a bit too close.

“Yeah, I know. You hate my guts and my friends,” the boy giggled in spite of himself, disregarding getting bloodstains on his fingers. “Bend your neck for me, asshole. You gotta tilt your head up.”

“No.”

“Craig, come on.”

“You ruined my face, my favorite shirt, and a nine-hundred-dollar camera. It took me years to save up money for it. You suck at throwing,” Pausing, lips flattening to a thin line, “and I hope you rot in hell.”

Stan’s brow furrowed. “Really, Craig?”

"You’re a jerk.”

The noiret above him dampened a cloth with his water bottle.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if we worked together.”

The rage subsided significantly for Craig. Of course, the ‘attention whore’ had his shirt off. The close contact, very apparent, and indescribably uncomfortable to him. Thankfully, his thoughts were in order, so he could form coherent sentences.

“I know,” he replied indifferently. Craig looked up from his lashes, pausing briefly. “I didn’t mean this kind of help… when I was asking to fix it.”

Stan’s fingertips grazed his chin and lifted it, enough to evoke a shiver from his rival. Craig suppressed it with a glare and tried not to look at him.

“Oh, shut up, you’ll be fine. I’ve endured plenty of injuries like this when I played hockey.”

Awhile from having his face blotted with another tissue, Craig lowered his head while Stan held another under his nose. Another human being is invading his space again. If it isn’t his own parents, it’d be a random from their school hallway. Craig barely got used to his own boyfriend’s hands on him, let alone Clyde.

Before that, Craig already knew Stan was going to go after him after he grabbed the First Aid box. He didn’t want Stan screaming at him chasing him around at the parking lot. Now fully regretting acting high-and-mighty to impress Tweek, Craig would be stuck with him. The school’s loudest hypocrite.

What felt like the longest few seconds of his life, had been littered with awkward stolen glances and fidgeting from above. There had been genuine uniqueness to the jock’s face that didn’t measure up to the quarterback image he tried to convey. Stan had an androgynous look to him, a bit off to the feminine side. Green irises rove over his tight body. When Stan noticed, Craig turned pink.

With less rancor this time, he supplied aloofly, “This is only half of it. You still owe me.”

Stan shrugged.

A humorless gaze at the other teenager, Craig swallowed thickly, taking in a glimpse of the summer tan fading from sixteen-year-old’s bare skin. Apparently, his not so charming classmate was a bigger danger to him than he thought. Eyes betraying him, Craig’s focus magnetized to the v-line above the waistband of Stan’s boxer briefs. The human anatomy was definitely a sight to behold.

The muscles over Stan’s abdomen bend and twitched deliciously underneath his flesh. His abs clenching being more than a mere distraction to Craig and he inhaled through his mouth uncomfortably. A little after that, Craig’s vision skimmed over the prominent vein on Stan’s forearm and toned bicep. Up close, his chest was toned and blemish free with hardened nipples. His skin looked almost flawless, minus the scar he had on his arm. Almost looked, inviting.

Craig was in a trance. An accidental focus roamed over his skin and panned over to the sizable tent pressed underneath the shiny nylon of Stan’s Nike shorts. Craig gulped. Stan was packing. Fingers laced together, he remains self-composed, reserved. The male averted his gaze, making lazy eye-contact with the track field in front of him. Both of his wrists rested over his knees.  

“Done.”

As the teen backed off from him, Craig walked away.

Just like that, he said nothing.

No insult, no snide remark. Craig had his face cleaned, he would deal with his childhood rival the next morning.           

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, they all went home after that.

The photo session was a seasonal and an epidemic failure to the teen photographer. After hanging with friends and returning to his own home, Craig Tucker retreated to his dark bedroom and locked the door.

On his side, Craig shifted on his twin-sized mattress and he dug his cheek into his pillow as he applied more friction in his right hand.

Face lowered, his elbow jerked and he tilts his hips into his closed fist. Black denim down to his waist, Craig savagely worked himself harder with furious pumps. Slicking, sliding, and adding moisture over his palm. Hot precum drooled and accumulated from the reddish tip of his cock. The lewd noises float around in the small room where he is masturbating. Pressed against his pillow, he muffled his pained sounds.

Drawing in a deep breath through his teeth, Craig leaned forward and gasped while air whispered in his lungs. Forbidden and diluted thoughts of mounting a certain classmate invaded his head.

 _“Stan..._   _fuck..."_

A pleasant cold rushed down Craig's spine. The sheets on the mattress disturbed, the teen convulsing over it. A thick glob of come pearled over his swollen prick, splashing dark stains onto his bedsheets. Another gasp elicited from Craig. Turning his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated on his climax. Small and shameful grunts from him vibrated against his pillowcase. With flap of his hat caught between his teeth, Craig bit down on the material tighter as more uncontrolled wetness bubbled and dribbled down the slit of his cockhead. He shook out the last of his climax until he was empty and spent. Feeling his dick go limp in his hand, he loosened his grip. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ragged breathing.

Craig flipped on his back with a forearm over his head. Bottom half of him bare, and pants down half his waist. The shameful essence of his arousal cooled and seeped over the blue stretched linen. Right back to it again, he battles the recent action with counteractive thoughts. The guilt of it all quickly sets in when he thought of his boyfriend Tweek Tweak.

Real people. Having dirty thoughts of them. That’s not a crime. Unless he actually acted on it. Those urges were pretty easy to avoid for Craig. Seeing the other student in the school hall, he would tell himself things.   

Stan is a moron with a pretty face…  

Stan gets into unreasonable fights.

_Stan is an alcoholic._

It wasn’t rocket science or basic math to know where Stan would end up someday after his football glory days. He will get fat and work at a dirty Home Depot.

Fortunately for him, they still lived in the present. Mutual respect on came when they hated things together. Jacking it to Stan, however, still made no sense to him.

This is a secret he’ll take to the grave. Fornicating to the dickhole jock. In fact _, liking Stan Marsh is so embarrassing,_  Craig would triple the threats of his pre-planned suicide if he got over three-hundred likes on his imaginary Facebook post. That's how much of a big deal this was to him and how much he disliked himself at his very moment. A thing like this, getting out. He didn't ever want it to be revealed. There would be so much to lose. Initially, Craig would never be dramatic enough to consider suicide, but he would try it. People shouldn't test him. 

The second option, being more tame. In Craig's defense, if Token and Clyde ever caught wind of it, he would just tell them that it was no different than looking at an image on the computer or a picture in a magazine. Things would still not bode well for Craig when he's alone, or in public even. Every time he had the sense to ignore Stan, he'd be there. Naked, in his thoughts. Considering Craig has only seen his friends naked in the boy's locker room a few times, he couldn't get the image of Stan's body out of his head. He had a dick... and it was there. Craig has never seen it hard, but Stan in a towel will always flash worthy masturbatory thoughts for Craig. Something along the lines of 'mind rape'. Even more unfortunate for him, Stan would just about invade his thoughts when he’s eating or taking a shit. Pessimistic about it all, Craig has been running out of options to block it.

He remembered when they were opposing team leaders at dodgeball in the 8th grade.

“I don’t like you.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to, asshole,” Stan retaliated with a smug grin, walking his way. “I’ll still kick your ass at this game.”

Craig snapped out his daydream.

Tongue lashings were a come-and-go theme for them and purely perceived as normal to half the kids in their town. Everybody knew that Craig disliked Stan. He was never afraid to show it. They’ve always clashed even before then. And for a period of time, after the fifth grade, they left each other alone. As they got older, it’s gotten even worse and intense for Craig. Going as far back to when Craig was twelve years old, he knew something was wrong, when he wanted to kiss Stan after a fist fight.

Always feeling like a disgrace when he turned down hanging out with his friends. Craig always had an excuse for wanting to go home early and he would feel really sorry for Tweek. Stan wasn’t anything special to him. He really hated that someone like that got him off. Nothing can compare to what he had with Stripe and Tweek. Nothing about this was genuine like them. This was ‘pure lust’ bullshit.   

Legitimate enemies. That’s what they are. Acquaintances, hollow interactions. Friendship hardly worked for Stan and Craig. They tried it. Half the time, more than now recently now, it always ended badly. Stan’s negativity clashed and counteracted with Craig’s own. It was silly for their friends to make them join and try to work together at anything, besides coming together to fight a mutual hate. It’d be like fixing magnets up together that repel each other. Craig loathed Stan’s self-indulgent attitude and pride. Called it smoke and mirrors, it was all fake to him.

Craig didn’t know what to call it before. As kids, Craig got a high from making Stan feel bad. It boosted his endorphins and self-esteem. That settled down when he got serious with Tweek. Now, as an older adolescence, Craig couldn’t seem to get his hands out of his pants when he’s thinking about Stan alone. A real pain. It licked small flames around Craig’s body and engulfed his loins. What was even more pathetic, is that Craig would touch himself every night when Tweek’s not around.

In too deep. Not even professional therapy and seeking help as anon on Reddit could ease the guilt and get Craig out of this one. That annoying raspy voice bitching at him made his privates stir in his pants. There’d be many arguments to come, he's sure of it, and it’s not going to stop very soon. There'd be nothing any of his friends would do about it, either, because they did not know. This would be one of the many things that would be suppressed. 

In conclusion, Craig found Stan attractive over the years, and fighting with him made him horny. Stan was horrible. He was just as bad as he was back then, as he is now.

Upset with it all, Craig did the best to maintain his image. By being his lukewarm, pessimistic self – and biting back if Stan were to cause strife with him. Only, that would come with a backlash. The random erections that sprung up when they mock and ridicule one another. Realizing that could possibly ruin a beautiful thing that he has with Tweek, Craig has taken measures into his own hands to avoid it. To avoid Stan. He has picked clubs and hobbies that didn’t include the other boy. Unfortunately, he is a very active member in the community.

Brought back to reality again, Craig finished staring apathetically at the star stickers on his ceiling. The noiret rolled on the dry side of his bed and grabbed the Kleenex box from his nightstand. If there were a mirror in the room, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself. His dick betrayed him. Again. That was the fourth time he concealed his erection this week from his boyfriend, Tweek Tweak, and it was only Tuesday. Stomach clenching from his disgusted mood, Craig would never be able to forgive himself again. Only, he would. And it would happen again.

A harmless private act. That’s  _whatever the fuck this is_. On the bright side, there were no what if scenes of getting serious with Stan in Craig's head. All dirty scenes in his brain were just imaginary. A regular romantic encounter, that would never happen for them. Not in this lifetime and it wasn’t realistic either. Because Stan Marsh is straight. And because he’s an idiot. Even if Craig’s gaydar screamed otherwise, it was none of his business. Flipped on his side, he was going to leave it at that.

Brain rewiring itself to what's more important, Craig focused on Tweek. He really needed him right now. His honey. As if their energy were in sync for a moment, his iPhone buzzed over his end table.

Speak of the devil.

The contact name HONEY flashed on it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Circlejerk? You actually did that with the team?”

“The bus got stuck in the middle of nowhere, so hey, why not go and try it?” Stan shrugged at his friend Kyle while he flipped channels on Kenny’s tv. They were at the McCormick’s residence. The home still being hardly attractive, askew, and still falling apart after years or wear and tear. Half of the main four retreated on a ratty couch, ignoring the mold on the wall and new stains on the carpet. The house reeked with marijuana and a faint smell of cat piss. All of the above, the group didn’t seem to mind.

The blond chuckled overhearing.

“You’re so gonna end up in porn,” Kyle sniffed in derision.

“Sounds like Jeepers Creepers 2,” Kenny said from a broken armchair. “Circlejerk. Yeah… I tried that before.”

Cartman had his hands inside the pockets of his jacket and he faced Stan.

“Ya know, up to this point, you’re not even trying to hide it anymore. Why don’t you tell everybody you’re a fag now?”

“’Cause, I know that’s not true, queermo,” countered the jock, pulling his phone down from his face. “I’ve been dating Wendy for a long time now, I think it’s totally safe, and there’s nothin’ remotely gay about jackin’ it with another guy to straight porn. You can ask Kenny and Clyde.”

The light of the tv flashed shadow patterns on the wall. Kyle casts a doubtful glance of concern at the blond and brunet.

Grinning back, Kenny gestured an ‘oh well’. He raised his hands and shoulders, then dropped them. Only the noise of Jersey Shore filled their silence. Cartman skimmed through his phone and chuckled at a status update on Facebook by Token.

Mouth still open, Kyle kept his look glued at the blond and the noiret before shifting back in his seat, crossing his arms.

Stan spoke up once more. “Hey Kenny, where’s the remote?"

 


	7. Straight Shooters pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Feelings go nuclear. Stan is bi._  
> 

Clyde skipped in place like a hopping marsupial, shaking his hands before aligning his elbows against his ribcage. Bright determined eyes behind his red boxing gloves, he swiftly alternated between arms for every hit he launched. Using slow footwork in front of his friend, Craig held up the punching mitts to absorb the blows. The brunet fired hard jabs as Token continued to coach him from behind. Sweat sliding down his face, Clyde breathed in through his mouth as the wealthy boy instructed him to up the pace of his strikes.

“Chin down,” Token said.

Craig raised his hands up higher. “Don’t roll your punches.”

Teeth clenched tightly, Clyde hurled another barrage of attacks. Token looked at the timer on his phone, as the brunet charged at the mitts in front of him.

“Ten seconds,” advised Craig after Token motioned the phone screen at him.

More furious blows absorbed by the mitts. Craig and his gang continued their boxing practice at the town’s mega fitness center. They were at the bottom level of the building. The week before had been its grand opening. It’d be one of the recreational places them to go when they wanted to avoid their female classmates. Of course, that wouldn’t stop the girls from flirting with them, and pretending to like yoga class.

Although recently, the group had found an actual need to stick around there more. It had something to do with Clyde friend gaining a bad reputation from another school. When the alarm went off in Token’s phone, Clyde’s arms dropped to his sides. Velcro straps undone, Clyde pulled off his boxing gloves and tossed them to the ground. The noiret beside him handed him his water bottle.

Token pulled his phone away from his gaze. “All right Craig, it’s your turn.”

Sneakers planted in position, the teen in the blue chullo approached a hanging punching bag. Craig’s two friends fold their arms behind him as he finished his quick warmup. Clyde walked around with his beverage in his hand while Token spoke up.

“One one two. One one two.” The level-headed one of the group repeated, circling the punching bag. “Double jab cross.”

With his eyes glazed over Clyde took another sip of his water. Bursting through the doors, the fitness room is quickly bombarded with a group of more teenagers. Their voices boomed loudly and overlapped each other, repeating the same chant over and over in the same grating note. The laughter of a flock of seagulls could not compare to the level of distasteful disharmony the trio presented in the exercise room.

"Gang-gang-gang-gang! Gang-gang-gang!" 

Three man stampede, the boys stormed through the lobby doors breezing past the empty front desk and the floating flat TVs. Rambunctious and high-pitched screams amplified as the energetic bunch danced, trilled, howled like wolves, and skipped like ninjas, dragging their hands over the equipment and benches.

“Gang-gang-gang! Gangganggang-gang-gang! Gang gang gang! Gang! Gang!”

Eyebrows lowered in aggravation, Token cursed underneath his breath, feeling a small migraine growing around the base of his skull. 

Clyde’s content expression faded when he lowered his water bottle down from his face from the cacophony that reached his ears.

He recognized the slouch beanie from anywhere that the blond boy walking up to them wore. Football jock Vince McCoy from a rival team sped to Clyde and his gang right away. Garbed in a royal purple and black varsity jacket, paired with similarly dressed minions, the head quarterback of the North Park football team appeared with smooth strides.  An Asian boy with red hair and a Hispanic boy holding a bag of hot Cheetos sneered behind him, tagging along behind his shoulders.

Taking great pleasure in Token and Clyde sizing him up, the quarterback snapped his fingers for his goons to stop their howls. He was every embodiment of douchbag melded together. Muscular, handsome, homophobic. Vince McCoy was the hyper-definition of your stereotypical movie football jock. Only becoming famous and to getting laid mattered to him. Ever since running into him in football camp, life's been more miserable for Clyde. 

“Aw! What the hell do you guys want?! You’re not done harassing me, yet?” exclaimed the bothered brunet.

All but a broader grin on the blond’s face, when he took a glimpse at Clyde.

Weights in his hands, the brunet boy in the red tank top scowled at Vince coming over to him.

Token glowered.

“Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd check on ya,” the North Parker addressed Clyde, his blues swimming up at the boy in his rival team. Snort. "Hey, where's Marsh?" 

"Not here, I can tell you that right now," Token replied.  

Beaming at Clyde, he dropped the question. Crows feet engraved by Vince’s eyes, they crinkled when he held that reptilian smile a bit longer.

“Yeah, whatever then," the young man said loftily. "Surprised you’re still here. I thought you wussed out to live with your grandpa or something.”

A nervous chuckle from Clyde, he blew his lips. “What, me? No way. Who said I was gonna miss that?”

“My ex-girlfriend did,” snarled the footballer in front of him with a curled upper lip. “You know, the one you fucked?”

Token grimaced at the mention but kept his cool. “Okay, now.”

“I didn’t fuck Mercedes,” Clyde lied, voice laced with anxiety.

“Whatever. Anyways, you’re goin’ down. Eight more days, Donovan,” Vince reminded. “Eight more days, _and you fucking die.”_

“Yeah, eight,” snickered the Hispanic at his right, laugher hiccupping in his throat.

The Asian boy joined in, bumping his elbow and slapping the other kid's arm.   

“Don’t forget. The park on eighty-seventh by Baker Lane, next Sunday.” Vince pointed a hard jab of a finger at the brunet’s pec, earning an ‘ow’ from Clyde. “Three ‘o clock on the dot, or you’re fried. Don’t be late, pussy.”

“He won’t,” Craig commented, still concentrating on his punching bag.

“He’ll be there,” Token uttered.

“So, hey… question,” Clyde said, making them stop in their tracks. “If we’re _South Pussy,_ wouldn’t that make you guys North Pussy?”

“H’yeah, he’s got a point,” Craig agreed, smiling.  

“Shove it, fudge packer,” Vince cursed directly at the boxing noiret. “Just tell the whole town to be there and bring all of your friends – and none of that jumping shit either, Tucker. Let this douchebag learn on his own… take a beating _like a real man_.”

Clyde puffed out his chest. “I’ll beat your ass, Vince!”

The teen to Vince’s right cackled, “Yeah, whatever.”

“Better not cry, Donovan,” the Asian boy mocked behind the blond’s shoulder, twisting his balled hands below his eyes.

“Yeah! _Better not cry!”_ echoed the Hispanic kid. 

As they depart, the arrogant blond smooched his lips at the group. 

Token held in his sigh.

This had been an ongoing routine for a few years, ever since the seventh grade. A town tradition, it was. There’d be no point for him to complain. When meddling the jocks disappeared, Clyde punched the air several times in aggravation and grabbed his head. His rich friend beside him placed his earbuds on and sifted through the song titles on his phone.

Impartial to what was verbally thrown at him, Craig landed more carefree jabs in front of him. The noiret huffed as more sweat collected underneath his shirt. Full attention on his target, he imagined busting the lip of a faceless authority figure as he kept pounding fists against the bag. 

 _Crap, I’m done for. They’re gonna pulverize me._ Heart slamming against his chest, Clyde clutched his shirt.  

Shakily, he mouthed to his best friends in a small voice. “Welp, it’s been a great sixteen years…” Clyde swallowed thickly. “It’s nice knowin’ ya Token, Craig… When my dad finds my body, tell him I didn’t back down.”

“Don’t worry about it, Clyde, concentrate on your stamina first,” commented Craig.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not gettin’ yeeted next Sunday!”

Token pulled out one of his earbuds. “Calm down, calm down. I’m sure it’s not even that bad. Just practice your punches some more. We always figure out a way to handle it.”

Clyde looked down.

“It’s the same bullshit they pull every year. It will get better for you.”

Careful consideration was taken of the teen’s words. Clyde nodded. They kept quiet after a while.

The sky remains a rich black color behind the glass doors at the front lobby as a set of four plus Butters entered the fitness center. From the other side of the building, Stan and his friends emerged from the locker room of the building. Following along begrudgingly, Eric Cartman had his arms crossed while Butters had his hand over his back. The overweight brunet was wearing a tri-colored Puma tracksuit and a pair of shoes of the same brand.

Walking alongside Kyle, Stan in a bright orange beanie from a sponsor uncapped his Gatorade cap and drank from his bottle. Kyle had his own cold beverage in his hand. The group commenced to the treadmills and step machines by the wall mirrors.   

Arms bent over a weight machine with his chin propped over it, Clyde watched as Stan pats Cartman’s back, getting him started with one of the leg machines. A dark gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants is what the noiret in the beanie wore. Kyle had a sweatband on over his neutral colored ushanka. The auburn-haired boy wore a blue graphic tank top and striped gym socks.

Butters’ outfit was simple. Sweatbands, wristbands. T-shirt, shorts. Any person would say he looked like he was going to tennis practice.

Still sulking next to his friends, Clyde’s brown eyes swept up to the group in front of him. The Main Four, in all likelihood, were engaging in aimless conversation about the week’s events. Butters circled around them, grinning at Kenny who was donned in short-sleeved hoodie and sweats.  

“Hey Craig, don’t look, but Cartman’s here,” Token revealed.

Eyes trained in front of him, Craig kept boxing. “Oh, boy.”

That was a complaint he thought his friend is well off keeping to himself. Of course, he didn’t want or need to be reminded about Cartman at all. Not all the time. Though, it’s stark clear to everyone that Craig wanted nothing to do with any of the Main Four individually and their shenanigans unless it involved one thing – money.  

None of the sleepovers Cartman hosted were memorable enough for Craig to have a good opinion of them besides the average. The unhealthy magnetism he had for Stan wouldn’t count either. They’d just be there. He kept himself focused long enough not to pay attention to the squandering and loud bickering noise that carried on in the workout room. Grotesque use of language, Eric whined loudly. The shout of profanity incredibly audible enough to pierce the warm air where the Craig and Token stood.

After accumulating more sweat to the point that it bothered him, Craig peeled his shirt off and raised a fluffy towel to his face after Token handed one to him.

Cartman’s voice blared obnoxiously. “Goddammit, _motherfucker!_ Shit, piss! _Pussy asshole!”_  

A few of the gym members stopped what they were doing to take a glimpse of the heavy brunet gritting his teeth and struggling with the cast iron barbell over his chest, his large arms quaked when he gripped the bar. Sighing inwardly, Token frowned and managed a face that said, _Yep, that’s the norm_ at the group of strangers that walked by. Many glares surround the boy, and now Craig’s, as he lifted his head up over at Cartman’s direction from a distance. Stan and Kenny came to the aid their shouting friend, lifting the heavy instrument off of his body and putting it back on the rack.

“Hey, I’m gonna try out the bench press machine. You comin’, Craig?” Token asked.

“No, no, jackass! I ain’t gettin’ on the treadmills,” the scream bounced off the mirrors. “I have angina!”

“Shut the fuck up, Cartman! You do not!” hollered Kyle.

Eyes shifting from the source of sound, Craig followed. The two young men sauntered to the side of the room where the mirrors were. A few exercise machines away from them, Stan stood next to a dumbbell rack, casually striking up a conversation with Kyle. As his friend would talk, Stan’s vision skimmed over to Token and Craig, busying themselves with the nearby equipment.

Craig felt the pull of Stan’s gaze a few steps away. A helpless stare from the jock across the weight rack, Stan ogled him. His eyes locked on the taller noiret when Kyle continued his disappointed ranting of the Planet of the Apes movie sequel that they saw the weekend before. Finding the other boy glancing over at him, Craig peered back at Stan, tightening up the bandages around his fist. He was sitting two bench press machines away. Bedroom eyes. If Stan weren't fully committed to being straight, he'd call them that. Nevertheless, he could appreciate that from the same sex. No harm in it. There was definitely something sinister that stuck out from Craig's disinterested facade more than he would ever know. Regardless of how long Craig held that stare, Stan found it oddly captivating.  

“That character is just really offensive, you know? I can’t believe they actually put him there,” Kyle went on. “I don’t find anything wrong with it, but it’s kinda dickish. It just looked out of place and made me cringe. The rest of the cast was just fine, though, I just think they should’ve handled it better.”

Token nudged Craig’s shoulder and the noiret followed him to the weight benches.

“Stan?” 

“Yeah, it sucked,” the jock replied, perking up slightly. _Craig looks different today._

A quick mental shrug after the thought.    

Kyle rolled his eyes at Stan’s inattentiveness. “Yeah, well anyways, it’s garbage. I’ll probably end up buying the Blu-ray or something. The storyline’s fucked, but it’s seriously the only thing salvageable on there.” A moment of silence between his words.

Fiery lashes swept up, Kyle blinked.

The Jew reached up to Stan, grabbing him under his chin. “Dude! Is that mascara?”

“Um, hey,” a voice crept in. “Can you guys move?”

Stan caught his friend’s contagious blink and faced Clyde who stepped closer near them.  

“Oh, sure,” he said, as the boy made it toward the dumbbell rack to return the two he was already holding.

“Actually, um, I need to talk to you Stan,” whispered Clyde. “Alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Both walked to the back of the gym.

A shaky sip from his water bottle. Clyde was still a nervous wreck. He explained the situation with Vince and the other North Park jocks to Stan. Hands in the pockets of his zip-up gray hoodie, he sat on the bench in the trendy locker room, while Stan crossed his arms in front of him, slanting his lips.

Clyde grabbed his head in his hands and sank his fingers through his hair. With slumping shoulders, he dug his elbows into his knees while avoiding the disapproving frown he knew he received from Stan.     

“Long story short… I fucked Mercedes, and they’re gonna yeet me,” the brown-eyed boy stressed.

A complexion that said he’s unsurprised by it all, Stan took a step back. He knew it. Half of Clyde’s problem was self-imposed. Dark eyebrows drawn together in frustration and confusion at his classmate’s confession, he paused in deep thought. Stan wanted to feel bad and it wasn’t unusual for him and his teammates to receive death threats at this part of the year. Especially, with the football season being over and all. When it comes to sports in their town, the fanatics have always been violent and extreme.

The way the North Park jocks taunted him and his friends near the vending machines, Stan knew it would be more specific than just their school rivalry. Of course, any person could look at Clyde and know that his reputation of sleeping around would have a huge impact on a dilemma like this. This was something Stan didn’t want to have a part of.  

“What else can I tell you?” Stan spoke up. “I’d come, but it’s kinda your fault…” Looking down at his phone. “…and I kinda wanna stay out of it this year.”

“No, please! You said you’d help me!” Clyde begged, his dimpled face struck with fear.

Stan was already walking toward the exit after checking his phone.

“You guys can just talk,” repeated the tight-ender urgently, promptly, “ya know, quarterback to quarterback… so this whole drama thing would fizzle out again.” Shifting in his spot, Clyde’s voice hitched in desperation, he repeated the word. _“Please._ I’ll never ask you for anything again!”

Stan scratched his beanie looking down. “What about Token and the guys?”

“Token says he’ll come, but his bitch won’t let him!” Clyde complained. “I can’t just put Jimmy on the spot like that, Tweek doesn’t get into these kinds of messes, and Craig… he’ll be busy too!”

Stan found that hard to believe. “With what?”

Clyde sucked in his bottom lip and chewed on it.

“Yearbook.”

Three lockers away, the teen in the chullo interrupted, spinning his combination, and pulling out a bottle of cologne from it. Craig pulled out his iPhone next from the pea green vault and proceeded next to the two after ignoring the fifty notifications stacked up on a red square over an envelope icon. Earbuds on, he glanced up at the two nonchalantly with hooded eyes while he opened the Pandora app on his phone.

“It’s not like I just can, anyway. Things are really complicated with me right now, I’m sorry,” Stan said gently.  

Clyde got up from the bench. “Well, reach me when you change your mind. If I’m even still alive.”

Entire mood deflated, the distraught jock left the room after patting his teammate on the shoulder and his best friend’s. Stan offered Clyde a weak smile before he made it past the exit sign.

An upbeat tune flowed from Craig’s earbuds and the noiret beside him pushed his hands in the pockets of his sweats. They’ve gotten over the awkward times of being together alone, but Craig would still feel a slight unease with his attraction to the other boy. He stood there while Stan surveyed him.  His dark pupils roam freely over the outline of Craig’s body as he texted his boyfriend in his spot.

Stan tried to ignore it. The sweat that pooled over the line of Craig’s back earlier, the way his muscles contort easily underneath the taut flesh over his spine. Sports didn’t interest the male in the chullo as much, but he wasn’t by any means weak. Their height differences were definitely apparent. Craig’s frame easily towered over Stan, by a foot. As Craig sent more text replies, Stan’s inadvertently trained his eyes over to the big phallic shape pressed against his childhood rival’s thigh. Sweats were definitely not his friend. A unique scent filled Stan's nostrils. The mixture of sweat and something fresh. The combined elements, stimulating, and scarily arousing at the same time. 

Though Craig could be a stiff robot sometimes, he has shown to be human just like everyone else. Chubbies, hardons. Being passive and in his own zone wouldn't shield Craig from that. Stan was more intrigued that he had a bit of a size going for him. Craig had to be sexting. That’s got to be the only explanation for it, _for that._ Biology can be a cruel fate sometimes. Inward nod. Stan gets it. Sprouting a random erection in general, wouldn’t be anything he’d tease his classmate about. Although Stan has seen Craig hard a few times before, it was even weirder up close. It was a simple body function. That's nature. 

Craig pressed send after typing in a kiss emoji. Nowhere near oblivious to Stan’s stare, he continued to message Tweek. Another instance where he could be crossing into dangerous territory, Craig knows that he’s not really doing anything, so he couldn’t get in trouble for it. Though, he could be himself. Scream at the boy and to tell him to cut it out, but there was that small, hidden part of Craig, that wanted Stan to look. The attention Craig received, he found it to be both unusual and flattering as well. Thought crimes are not real. As long as he kept them to himself, he'd be okay. 

After all, there is always a logical explanation for everything. They literally measured each others’ dicks in the fourth grade. Maybe Stan wanted to compare his again because he’s an asshole. Craig began to walk away. His long legs carried him to the end of the room. 

Blinking with feigned innocence, Stan’s tongue dart from his lips, and he dug into his pants pocket. “Oh. Craig, wait.”

Between his fingers, Stan picked a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket. And then, there was that touching again. Craig didn’t like it. When the other teen grabbed his wrist and placed the money on his palm, he nearly shivered.

“I know it’s not much this week, but I didn’t forget. That’s what counts, right?”

Craig flushed but kept a straight face. “Yep. Don’t even worry about it.”

"Thanks, Craig." Stan rocked forward on his feet, hands in his pockets. “Oh, and dead puppies.”

“What?”

“Think about dead puppies, it helps. You have a boner.”

Craig’s pink cheeks sizzled to a dark red. He lifted his middle finger to Stan and walked out of the room.  

 

* * *

 

 

With the room completely cleared, Stan whipped his phone out again and glanced at his own notifications. Hugging his elbow, his sight rested on square display pic of his Facebook page. In it, it was him smiling with his girlfriend. Wendy's plump lips pressed to his cheek with her hand cupping his face. They were happy. They spent nights together, went on dates on a regular basis. Stan would support Wendy with her extracurricular activities, she would support him with his song covers and sports. Everything was perfect. Not a single regret since middle school, or a single fight. _Soulmates_. They were _soulmates_.

What worried Stan was, it’s been a few weeks since his girlfriend sent him a message or texted him. They were supposed to go apple picking the upcoming Thursday. Rather troublesome that she did not pick up when she called. He would either guess that she's sick or that she needed some space. It was pure torture to Stan. The absences would just be that, overkill. No sign from her either at school. Usually very opinionated and communicative, it was strange that Wendy Testaburger suddenly vanished off the face of the planet. Nothing new in her status updates. No pokes, no anything. Stan didn’t want to be hopeless mope around his friends. Negativity was a huge pet peeve of his. He didn’t want to be that friend.

However, Stan did notice before, how the sudden shift in Wendy’s personality took a nosedive after Christmas and New Year’s. Stan was really emotional that time dealing with his family. Usually, she'd be there to support her. The sudden strain, it didn't seem right to Stan. There must be an explanation for this. Hacked. Maybe that’s what happened to her. Neck bending up, a small quick frown settled on Stan’s face when he noticed the noirette had changed her profile picture. It was now pitch black and her page banner is an inspirational quote with sophisticated white text on it.

_“I’m slowly giving up.”_

 

Stan pulled up his keyboard, upset that his other messages were unanswered. In the room alone, he decided to give another message another go for Wendy.

**girl of my dreams**

**Today 7:31 am**

_{wendy it’s me.}_

**Today 7:31 am**

_{did something happen?}_

**Today 7:31 am**

_{your facebook looks different. :(}_

**Today 7:31 am**

_{wendy?}_

**_2 secs ago_ **

_{WHAT DO YOU WANT?!}_

Rattled by the capslock, Stan typed.

_{are you mad at me?}_

Stan was an asthma attack away from his chest bursting into flames. He felt like a former smoker breathing through a straw. Only, he didn’t smoke, and there’d be vomit involved anytime soon if things continued to go the way they were.

The phone buzzed again. Stan was near frantic when he looked down at his text. As soon as the message window enlarged on his phone and his mouth dropped. The first time he read it, he just skimmed it, but now, her response is slowly being absorbed by his brain.

_{Stanley,_

_I’m sorry I ghosted you, I was afraid. I’ve had a lot of time, and I’ve been thinking… Things aren’t going to work out for us, after all. You’re TOO CLINGY. I need to breathe!!! Please don’t be upset when I say this, but I think you should see a shrink first before you make a FULL commitment with me. I know in time our hearts will heal. You have given me some of the best memories and moments of my life, but I feel that I should spread my wings. You should too. You’re more than just a boy to me, you are special, loving and sincere. In a few months, you’ll understand. I’m doing this for our own good! Let’s stay friends. I’ll always hold you dear in my heart, always._

_Love, Wendy}_

Stan’s blood went cold. His blues roam over the same line over and over again.

 

_Things aren’t going to work out for us, after all. You’re TOO CLINGY. I need to breathe!!!_

 

Mouth gaping at the message, the disquieted shiver Stan had earlier morphed from distress into a stunned terror when he noticed her profile has been set to private the minute he refreshed her page.

Stan didn’t want to panic. Only, he began to, he did. They are still teenagers, he still has the time _._ He’ll just call Bebe and she’ll tell him it’s a joke. He’ll corner her with questions. Demand her to explain everything to him and to tell him that everything’s okay. She’s Wendy’s best friend. She could do something. The first five attempts to reach Bebe Stevens and Stan figured he’d already be blocked. Other than reaching out to Wendy’s best friend, Stan estimated if he and Wendy are _truly over_ , then he needed to hear it from Wendy himself. Not from some ‘shitty text message’.

That was the door that slammed in his face. Wendy blocked Stan’s last text reply. She blocked Stan on Instagram as well. She was the only reason why he had social media in the first place. It was all for her, his childhood love. Kyle would chide him, tell him that this breakup is no different than the other ones, that he was right all along. There would be no reason for him to live now. Stan thought that, darkly. They had everything planned. It was supposed to be perfect. That was the love of his life _. That was his future wife._

Thoughts of saving up for her a wedding ring were suddenly taken over by the images of him driving a knife up his throat and hanging himself. Stomach already hurting, Stan could already hear the bark of Eric’s laughter an earshot away.

He called her phone. “Wendy, it’s me… please pick up…”

His hands were visibly shaking. Stan scrolled over his contacts list, selecting Wendy's phone number and holding the device up to his ear. It rang once.

Twice, dial-tone.

_“We’re sorry, this number you’re trying to reach has been connected.”_

That’s okay. She disconnected, no problem. Stan paced again and pressed on the contact number a third time.

_"We’re sorry, this number you’re trying to reach – ”_

Hefty sigh, pace, again.

_"We’re sorry – ”_

Stan turned away and banged his forehead against a locker.

“No,” voice strained, the teen breathed aloud. _Bang!_ _“NO!”_

Closed fists slammed against the metal vaults over and over again. Stan grated his teeth and pounded his fists and head on a locker repetitively. As if his palms had any effect, Stan dug them over his eyes to prevent his woes from spilling. 

The phone rumbled twice.

_{We’re done forever! PLEASE stop calling me!!}_

_{Good luck!}_

An elevator was Stan's stomach and the cables snapped. Newer suicidal thoughts are quickly flooded in. Scissors, pills, Stan would weigh in with his options later - and then he remembered that he was 'too pussy' to take his own life. This separation was going to tear him to shreds for weeks. His whole world imploded inside. Jaw shaking, he slowly sagged to the ground as his cheeks dampened. Painful lump in his throat growing more sore, with his back pressed against the jagged surface of the lockers, the boy slipped further down to the ground positioned like a rag doll. Barely any noise coming from his mouth, an agonized whine the builds within as he drew in a long breath.

Stan broke down and sobbed violently with upturned palms. A sobbing wet mess, his shoulders wracked uncontrollably with every teardrop forced from his eyes.

Fingers shaking, he dug into his pocket and flung his class ring across the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Life became unbearable after that… and so did the odor of Stan's room. 

“Dude, you stink!” the Jew fumed, shirt over his nose, scrubbing red marks on his friend with a rag.  

Stan raised his arm down after Kyle complained, washing his chest and armpit. The freckled teen dipped the washcloth back in the soapy water in a plastic bucket and wrung it briskly once more. Large water droplets splashed underneath his bony fingers. Seeing his friend miserable, drunk, and bedridden. Something's got to give. Kenny and Kyle had enough, they could bear to see. Stan's fragile ego would have to weather more hardships. Today was the day he gets out of bed. Sheets soiled with vomit and food crumbs be damned. The hardened candle wax against over his side table didn’t add much appeal to the atmosphere either. Kyle had to ignore that huge spider that crawled over a Bic lighter.    

“Do you think she’ll ever come back?” Stan asked weakly, staring at the empty bottles of booze on the floor.

“Well, that depends…” Kyle said.

“On what?” pouted the noiret with puffy wet eyes. “She said the F-word, 'forever'. Do you think I’ll ever have a chance?” Hot globs of tears slid down Stan’s chin. He swallowed thickly, lips quivering. The ceiling blurred in his vision.

Kenny sighed with his back turned to them. 

“Wendy wouldn't just leave me like that, I can't believe it. When she sent me those texts, I felt like dying… She said she loved me…” Stan murmured. “It was like she took a sledgehammer to my heart and shattered it to a million trillion pieces, and then set them on fire.”

"Man..." Kenny trailed off. 

“It’s even worse than fourth grade,” sniffled the noiret. “My whole life’s ambition was to be with her, Ky… if we don’t get back together what’s the point?”

Stan choked on air. His nose was pink and he sniffled again.

"My heart hurts, everything hurts… We’re not getting back together again, are we?”

Kyle ignored his soft voice and kept scrubbing.

“Kyle?” Stan turned his head.  

Kenny could feel the noiret’s eyes on him, he knew he would be next to answer such a question. Stan looked up at the blond expectantly. Stan really wanted a response. Their opinions were so important to him. It was very  _highly unlikely._

Kenny wanted to say it, but he wasn’t going to ruin Stan’s already broken mood. Beside Stan’s dresser, he had his hands in his pockets and stood by the ‘Keep Out’ sign plastered on his bedroom door. Supporting him through the hard times was all he could do. Kenny shook his head. A free hand running through his light shaggy locks and he shrugged. The guitar melody gets to the redhead above Stan. Noticing the same tune, Kyle’s nose crinkled in dislike. It was that wretched Simple Plan meme playing on loop.

“Okay, hold on. I’m sorry, but I’m done. I can’t do this. Hand it over,” the redhead remarked looking at Stan’s Spotify in disgust.

Stan lent his tearstained phone to Kyle and he sets it aside after muting.

“I swear to god if I hear that song one more time, I’ll cut your dick off and puke on you.”

Hand over Stan’s knee, Kyle slapped the soggy washcloth over his best friend's chest. With one eye open, Stan winced. He cocked his head up with his own fingertips grazing over the rag. A medium pink splotchy mark blossomed over Stan's skin. Kyle slipped off the bed.   

“Wash your own balls.”

 

* * *

 

The blinding white snow reflected harshly against the natural sun rays of the morning sky. With dark circles around his eyes, Stan sat next to his sister Shelly in his father’s car.

“Can you believe this, Sharon?” Randy Marsh said, waving a red and black pamphlet in his hand while the other hand was on the steering wheel. “A damn Satanist church, in our own town! This goes against the opposite of our values. Just who the hell do those freaks think they are?! Don’t they know that this is a family safe environment!?”

“Calm down, Randy, we’ll get right to the bottom of it with the city council tomorrow.”

“Cheah, well, it’s still fucked up,” expressed the father of two in a dopey tone. Randy kept his foot light on the pedal as a line of automobiles moved in front of him. "They're a couple of blocks away from the bar. You think they really sacrifice babies in there?"

Stan rolled his eyes in the back seat. 

Though they were completely bloodshot, they still functioned correctly. There had been a widespread of Satanic missionaries lately. Many of the new church attendees scattered the snowy streets to spread the word. A tall Caucasian man with long dark hair walked toward Randy’s car. The stranger tapped on the glass beside Stan, startling him.

In her flowy babydoll dress, Shelly looked like a frightened sheep after her sibling flinched. Her oval-shaped face clear of the retainer she used to wear. The young woman clutched her purse tighter in her lap, now in annoyance, as her brother rolled down his window.

“Hello, my name is Philbert,” the stranger slithered. Eerie gray eyes peer up at Stan. Gray trench coat layered over a shirt with the anarchy emblem over it. The man looked like he lived in his mother's basement all his life, but for the most part, he looked like a ‘normal dude’. “Mayhaps, I can interest you with the Dark Lord, per se?”

"Would you look at that. They. Just. Won't listen." Randy grounded out. The man's seatbelt clicked noisily when he removed the strap from around the hump of his belly. “Jesus Christ! What part of _go the fuck away_ don’t you guys understand?!” 

The geologist slapped the pamphlet away from Philbert’s wrist before hurling his weight at him and launching his fists at the man.

“Randy!” Sharon shrieked.

Things were pretty normal the rest of the morning when the family stationed themselves on the church’s pew after the other parents greet one another kindly.  

Head throbbing from the vicious cycle of crying, in front of a dirty mirror in the church’s restroom, Stan finished splashing cold water on his face and adjusted his tie.  His family had forced him to come with them to their usual Sunday ceremony.

The church was packed up front and has grown significantly with more members over the years. The building is bigger.  

Sharon raised her hand and pats Stan's shoulder after he stepped out of the restroom. Stan wedged himself beside his sister and her boyfriend, the son of a family friend, Kevin McCormick. His whole family sat at the benches behind them. The church donation hat, passed down on Stan’s lap. Randy had snuck a hundred-dollar bill from it and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. There were bloodstains and red spatters on his dress shirt from beating up the man from earlier. Glaring at his father, Stan pulled out all the money he had in his wallet and placed the spare change into the hat.

For a few long and boring hours, Stan tried not to fall asleep during the speeches and testimonials. Stan stood with the rest of the church again, when Father Maxi instructed them to rise once more. Sitting there was agonizing. _Existence itself_ was agonizing to Stan. He wanted it to be over. 

“All right everyone, Craig here will guide us through our closing prayer,” said Father Maxi.

Kenny rolled his eyes goofily before clasping his hands to pray behind Stan. In the back row, Craig’s mother Laura Tucker held her video camera, proudly recording him. Tricia Tucker smiled at her brother standing at the front of the church.  

As everyone bowed their heads. In a white dress shirt and tie, Craig appeared and made a reach for the microphone before a smarmy grin appeared on his face.

“O, heavenly father, bless us as we leave here today…”

Stan stayed behind as other people removed themselves from their benches. Kenny and Cartman walked toward the building’s exit. Eyes shut, Stan extended his prayer a bit longer before he rose from his knees. 

“Hey, wait.” He interrupted the gait of one of the deacons with his extended hand. “Can I have a word with you?” 

A door shuts behind him firmly after Stan was guided to the confession booth.

Reunited with Token and Clyde once more, Craig stood a short distance away. After receiving shoulder pats by a few of the adults, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his blazer and began texting with his thumbs. Pretending to be distracted with a game app on his phone, Craig wandered away from the heap of people. He had not planned to follow his classmate, but he became suspicious and wondered why Stan had been missing from class for a few days. Standing beside the door Stan shut, Craig leaned his back against a nearby wall.

Behind the left door of the confessional booth, Father Maxi signed the cross over his chest.

“Good afternoon,” Maxi said. “May God who has enlightened our hearts help you know your sins and to trust in mercy.”

“Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Stan knotted his fingers together, looking at the shoelaces of his chucks. Leaning forward, the boy carefully chose what he would say before he started off. “You ever felt like you’re someone you’re not when you wake up in the morning?”

“That is a good question…”

**🌻HONEY 🌻**

**Today 11:41 am**

_{Craig! Are you done with church yet?}_

**Today 11:43 am**

_{Yep.}_

**Today 11:43 am**

_{What was that one thing you wanted to go to?}_

**Today 11:43 am**

_{PlanetCon.}_

Stan’s voice came through the door, reverting Craig’s attention back to his surroundings and the current physical state he is in.

The church was cleared, by only just a few floating heads. A small number of people stuck around to spread love and praise, and possibly gossip around the community. Craig’s friends were still waiting outside to join him to eat at Denny’s again, one of their staple hangout spots. For right now, Craig would concentrate on his subtle eavesdropping. Green eyes shot an impatient glare at the doors. The bridges of Craig's eyes sharpen when he craned his neck up slightly, one hand on the wall. 

“How can I put it this way…” Stan paused, clearing his voice. “I’m not what all the kids in this town think.”

 _Wow, no shit,_ Craig echoed in his mind. He stared forward, heavy-lidded eyes, unimpressed. 

“I’m not a virgin and I’m bi. Last night, I did some things,” confessed the noiret in the beanie, his words fumbled along with his hands.

Craig glared. 

“Pardon?” Maxi spoke forward again.

“I’m bi-curious… sorta,” Stan mumbled discreetly. The athlete stared at the door in front of him. “I think it all started in the fourth grade – _well_ – I don’t remember when… I just know that it’s really screwin’ up my life and my chances with Wendy. She just broke up with me yesterday, I think she freaked out about it. Anyway, I guess me having sex is kinda old news.”

Mouth going dry as he listened in, Craig worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

_What did he just say?_

“I’m bi. Okay, no. I think I might be more gay. Naked dudes, I just can’t get them out of my head. At the same time, I wanna hold hands, cuddle, and do relationship stuff. I'm kinda scared. I’m starting to think I could fall in love with a guy, if I actually tried... Well, there was one guy.”

Craig’s lashes flew up.

His face flattened. Stan has feelings for someone. Kyle Broflovski, if Stan mentions him, he’s finished–

“Don't worry, I never looked at my friend Kyle like that. Attractive dudes, I just enjoy lookin’ at 'em,” confessed the noiret in the beanie.  "I have this classmate who stares at me. He's hot. He's taller than me and he sorta has a boyfriend... Sometimes I want a boyfriend, but I love Wendy. She's my life. I don't think I can settle down and have kids with another guy... and my mom... what would she say? Would she feel sorry? I shouldn't feel this way... I'm guessing it might help if I pray harder?”

It would be completely insane for Craig to burst through the doors to interrogate his classmate. Ask him if he was stupid. His foot was itching right about now, being brought up. Unless there was another kid that looked at Stan the same way. Altogether, he should probably stop looking at him for more than five seconds. Craig wondered who this hot guy is and had the sudden urge to ruin Stan's reputation for being a hypocrite _again_. Being the only tall gay in their entire grade, Stan had to be talking about him. So that must mean... 

_Holy crap, Stan thinks I'm hot._

“Young son, have you ever thought that you could still be saved and converted?” Maxi replied, noticing Stan’s hesitation.

Craig chuckled more in his head. _Stan thinks I'm hot, ha-hah._

“Don’t know, can I?” murmured the jock. 

“Let Jesus take your hand when you’re walking alone in the dark. Don’t fret, youth, at the end of the day, you have total control of yourself. You cannot let yourself become weak by the sins of the flesh unless you let yourself. The only way to beat homosexuality is to know that it is a sin _and a choice.”_

“I was crying the other night and I frenched Kenny,” Stan added. “We were both in another friend’s backyard. He didn’t really stop me.”   

Craig glared instantly from the other side of the doors. “What. _The. Fuck?”_

A man rolling a vacuum cleaner nearby frowned at Craig.

Inside Craig yelled, eyebrows low and drawn together. _Kenny? Kenny McCormick?!_ A visible huff. Up to this point now, it didn’t matter if Stan was gay or thought he was hot, Craig was livid. A flash of anger and a sense of entitlement suddenly had a gravity pull over him and it wouldn't let go. _Kenny’s not even gay!_

“You still want to get married and have children, don’t you?” Maxi asked.

Stan took a momentary pause again. “Uh, yeah...” Voice breaking, his tears splashing on his lap, “of course I do.” 

Craig’s throat felt dry and his mouth was an even tighter line, anger rising like water over a pot.

 _I never did have a chance, did I?!_ Sour mood, Craig's child self threw a tantrum in his mind.

All of those times Craig had tried to foil Stan's fun, just so they can have what little interaction they had together, so he could be near him. Not that elementary school mattered too much that very day, but Craig was pretty sure that he and Tweek were the only gay kids the school had ever known. 

“Okay. Well, remember again, it’s certainly not too late for you to change. Let us pray,” Maxi replied, flipping a page through the holy bible.

As sound and sentimental advice took off before the bible verse is recited. Miffed, Craig decided to take off as well. He has heard all he needed. Partially saddened that Stan wept and felt bad for his orientation, and all at once offended that Kenny had a kiss.

Craig and walked through the double doors to join his friends on the steps.

“But from the beginning of creation, God made them male and female _._ Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So, they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man separate.”

With every bit of concentration poured into his prayer, Stan pressed his forehead to his cupped hands.

The middle-aged man removed his glasses.

“Mark, chapter ten, verses six through nine.”

 

* * *

 

Nocturnal emissions.

Those were more frequent for Craig now that he knows Stan’s secret. Deep in his mental process, Craig would still feel dirty about it, but at least he wasn’t jacking it to a straight person anymore. Why the jock was so ashamed of his sexuality, Craig didn’t know. The whole town always forgave Stan when he bickered, complained, and whined. Stan always talked about sex positivity and gay acceptance whenever he had the gloating chance. So, when Stan says it's okay for everyone else to be gay, Craig wondered why the boy would fight so hard to conceal that part of himself. 

Tweek wasn’t around to be Craig’s alarm clock that morning, which gave him more time to clean up after himself. Though Tweek does know a little of Craig’s sexual attraction to Stan, he knows in his heart that he’ll never do anything about it. During middle school, they had a huge fight about it. They sifted through the weeds. Both are mature enough to know that good relationship stay strong with communication, and that’s what they do. They communicate.  

Of course, some of the less healthy parts would be ignored, stay hidden. Craig would choose to hide them. Borderline obsessed with the new facts in front of him, the noiret in the yellow puffball hat checked Wendy Testaburger’s name on his phone four times every hour. Both her Facebook profile and her Instagram. Even her Twitter.

Walking with four other apps open, Craig did the same thing, searching through Stan’s social media profiles before he decides to go rogue and delete them. Behind his friends’ colorful backpacks Craig continued to browse through his iPhone as Tweek stepped forward and engaged in a conversation with Jimmy and Token about the new Satanist church in town.  

Normally Craig wouldn’t care much, but after hearing Stan’s own words that he could possibly be into guys. While that was out of the bag, he could delude himself. It may be that Stan finds him attractive too. The idea of it being delusional, vapid, and shallow. None of it meshed well with reality. Craig knows that that could never be true _–– but Stan’s gay now._ For a bizarre reason, that is really important to Craig now.

As much as Stan would deserve to be outed for the fake image he’s trying to sell, nobody deserved to be forced out of the closet. Knowing first hand, how that felt and all. Just about now, Craig would be at odds with himself. A huge part of him wanted to be nice to Stan and to guide him when he’s ready to come out, the other half wanted to expose him.

Well, that may not be all the way true anymore. All of this time feeling half guilty because Stan was this model heterosexual student this whole time. Craig wouldn’t do a thing about it, but at least now, he could still look at him and there’d be a tinier chance that the other noiret wouldn’t be as creeped out.  

Textbooks collected in his left hand, Craig walked into his first-period class. He gave Tweek a hug with one arm.

“Another day in this class. I'll see you later on, okay honey?”

“Nrr. Just try to get through it. You’ll be fine, it’s just another day,” assured the blond.  

After chatting with Kevin Stoley about a sci-fi convention he took Tweek with him to, Craig sauntered to the second back row to his seat and sat in his desk. Paper balls were thrown all around his head and he opened his binder, doodling a picture of a rocket next to a decently drawn astronaut on a slanted sheet of paper. Handwritten quotes were etched on the page along with the constellations he inked with a felt-tip marker.

Emerging from the door panel, Kenny McCormick appeared, his friend Stan trailing behind him. The flaxen-haired teen in an oversized hoodie gave his friend a high-five. Holding the edge of his binder, Craig’s attention dragged up the boys up front. He sat unblinkingly, observing the young men, rows ahead.  

“Dude, there’s writing on your desk!” Kenny exclaimed underneath his sick mask.

Something obscene, more than likely, a drawing of a dick or some ‘mega-offensive’ graffiti.  

“Eh,” Kenny squinted. “What the hell is a Fuck Boy?”

Stan’s reaction was loud. Craig’s eyes hooded as his focus returned to his notebook. He couldn’t believe those two kissed. A part of Craig would hate if they would become a couple after the Wendy ordeal. There was that unexplainable surge of jealousy building inside of him again like a clogged pipe. Craig thought that Stan liked boys before, he never thought Stan would waste his first boy kiss on Kenny.

As experimental and out there Kenny was, any sane person would know not to swap spit with that guy, unless they wanted permanent cold sores. Now plainly deciding that they were both disgusting, Craig would try to organize rationalize his thoughts again. If Stan and Kenny get together, then it is probably meant to be. They will both be disgusting to him, but at least he knows Stan is gay now.

After the ring of the tardy bell, Craig passed his homework forward like the other students did and he grabbed the stapler in front of him.

Things have seemed to be running amuck for the school’s quarterback and it showed. Searching through his backpack, Stan gathered as many missing assignments as he could in a messy stack and walked up to the teacher at the front desk. Many students giggled around when more slanted worksheets spilled out of Stan’s folder and his pencils and all his sundry flew on the floor.

Butters stuttered when he read a paragraph right aloud, page seven from the new book the whole class was reading, _Lord of the Flies_. Bebe Stevens smacked her gum loudly behind Craig.

Impressed sounding, Stan approached the taller noiret’s desk out of nowhere.

Hands on each side of the small table. “Ah, wow. I didn't know you draw. That’s so awesome, did you do that?”

Craig raised his glance up at the jock from his book before shielding his paper from him with his arms. The school’s lovely hypocrite, _Art’s for Gaywads_ Stan.

“What do you want, Stan?”

“You have the stapler. Let me borrow it.”

 _No, fuck him. He kissed Kenny_.

Stan’s expression dulled while he waited.

_Dude, you have a boyfriend, shut the fuck up._

“Don’t touch me,” Craig blurted.

Word vomit, he didn’t mean to say that.  

“Wasn’t goin' to, but okay…" Stan slanted his lips. "So, erm, you gonna hand it over, or…”   

Like a robot, Craig’s extended his arm. Intending to drop it on the floor, but he did not. Stan took the item from the other boy’s outstretched hand. The noiret in the NASA shirt blinked before looking down disappointed with his action. Remembering that Stan could make a scene, even for something so small, cooperation would be best for them, anyway.

Craig remembered the compliment on his art, gripping his mechanical pencil again. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“My drawing, you said it was awesome, stupid!” Craig yelled at the other boy as if he were deaf.

Taken aback, the teen in the beanie gave him a crossed look and scoffed as their female classmates whispered behind them. Craig would rarely be the first between them at calling names, and then it hit him, something crawled up his ass again. Only Clyde would be able to appreciate that kind of ‘bullshit’ to Stan, but then, he’s his best friend.

“Jesus, just take the fucking compliment next time.”

Stan walked back to his desk in the front row, swinging the stapler in his clenched fist.

With a testy glance, Craig held his mechanical pencil and slouched in his chair. Fortunately for them, their teacher was making more copies of their chapter worksheets when they traded negative dialogue and glances at each other. Stan was a complete dolt. 

As things couldn't possibly rub Craig the wrong way even more, and then a woman with long and flowy blonde hair walked into the room. From the math hall, Mrs. Hutchinson, the twenty-two-year-old lively bombshell that Clyde and Kenny have been bragging about at the commons and during every lunchtime appeared beside Stan. Instant resentment coursed through Craig’s veins when he sees the woman trail a polished fingernail over the jock’s forearm. Flirting. It was fortunate that Stan was too depressed to care.  

“You should see me after class,” the woman warbled, gently.

“Sure,” Stan replied vacantly.

Mrs. Hutchinson cupped his chin with her hand and lifted his face for him to face her. Though, as much as that, Stan did not protest and ignored the craters on her face.

Inappropriate, everything about that screamed unprofessional. Many of the classmates didn't care enough to react. Still caping for Wendy, Bebe Stevens recorded them on her phone. They were communicating about Stan’s missing assignments from his fourth period class. Kenny, on the other hand, didn't mind watching. The flirty blond grinned dreamily, a mischievous sparkle in his bright pupils.

Craig’s cold temper would be put to the test when the lady caressed Stan’s cheek. No trace of emotion in his face. Being used to it, Craig has idly stood by many times when the same and opposite sex made passes at Stan. This moment would be no different than the others. Craig was still angered. He could just imagine now. The graphic image of the woman spontaneously combusting filled his head, along with Stan looking at her pig-like scattered remains in horror. Just for breathing near Stan, Craig wanted her to get vaporized. The word 'eradicate' and 'hag' playing over and over again like a broken mixtape in his daydream. She was a whore. The whole school needed to find that out somehow. In perfect penmanship, Craig found himself writing at the upper corner of his desk in small letters.

 

_Mrs. Hutchinson is an ugly bitch._

Craig erased it.

The woman carded her fingers through Stan’s bangs.

_Mrs. H is a cradle-robbing guzzler of syphilitic slime._

Erase.

The words screamed ‘too much’. Craig simplified it.

_Mrs. H is a pedo._

– C.T

Complexion empty of lines and feeling, Craig looked forward again as if he were staring into a void. Rotating an eraser in his hand with glazed over eyes, Craig's focus skates up to the arm clock that was hung on the wall next to a Macbeth poster. 

After giving an inappropriate hug to Stan, the young blonde swished gracefully out of the room before their balding teacher returned in his ugly brown sweater vest with a plain coffee mug. Craig kept his focus on the other teen after he finished half of his chapter review. The second period rang loudly and Craig collected his things before walking to the front desk. Kenny was waiting for Stan out in the hall. Kyle and Cartman were a few steps behind disagreeing with something again. Holding the door panel, Clyde popped his head in the room and waved at Craig. 

“Yes, you’ve fallen behind,” said Mr. Wood, “but lucky for you, you won’t fail mid-terms if you tackle this quickly.”

"Yeah, you said can get me a tutor?" Stan asked, eyes roaming up. 

Over the graded papers of his desk, his English class teacher gestured his hand to the boy standing behind him. Dark eyebrows dropped in disappointment.

"Aw, come on, really!?" griped the jock aloud. 

Craig grinned at Stan's exaggeration. "Don't worry Mr. Wood, I'll take real good care of him." 


	8. Bad and Sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> _you didn't listen._  
>  _you thought they were sugar._  
>  _and swallowed them whole._  
>  _and now your insides are burning._  
> 

The morning sunrays soaked over the curtains of Stan’s and Craig’s apartment in present day. Nineteen-year-old Stan stirred awake after his boyfriend nudged his shoulder gently. His equally naked boyfriend Craig pulled himself from the sheets and walked to the bathroom.   

After a moment of regaining full awareness after daydreaming, Stan wiped his eyes with his hands and followed to pee and brush his teeth. Silence turned into ridiculous smiles when he joined Craig in the shower and they engaged in a silly swordfight with their erect penises.

“Dude, keep that thing away from me,” Craig snickered.

 _“Oh, dude._ I thought that word was banned,” bantered Stan from behind the curtain.

Their activity slowed when Craig paused. “Only I can say it.”

Mock-glare from Stan, he slapped him on the chest.

“Ow,” monotoned Craig, “fuck you.”

At the reaction, Stan pulled back with a lazy grin that agreed with his retort. Sliding a hand behind Craig’s neck, he kissed him long and leisurely. Eyes shut, Stan gave Craig’s lower lip a hungry nibble. Liking where things were going, Craig dipped his face down and smirked against Stan’s mouth. Shutting his eyes as well, Craig accepted a curl of his tongue.

Within that moment, their sensual affection for one another manifested into soapy hand jobs.

Wrists crossed over each other, the pair slicked their hands back and forth in an attempt to get each other off in the small bathroom.

 _“Mmm,_ babe… that feels so good,” Stan crooned gently.  

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yeah… keep doing it.”

"Feel mine too."

Their moans spread just as the fog float in the shower. Looking down through water drenched eyelashes, Stan was the first come in Craig’s hand. His hard stomach muscles clenched and tightened as he ejected ropes of come onto the tub’s floor. Craig followed shortly with his eyes shut, grunting as many jets of his seed spurts below them.

They found time to recover and said nothing more for a few minutes after that. They finished washing and rinsing in the shower and getting proceeded to gather their outfits. Craig finished buttoning his dress shirt up to the collar. Still in his birthday suit, Stan scrubbed a towel over his hair, walking to over to their dresser.

“That’s a nice tie on you, darling. You look handsome.”  

“Thanks, pumpkin. Hurry up and get dressed.”

They mirrored each others’ grins again. Among their social circle, pet names shared with them took some time to get used to. For the most part, Craig enjoyed them, they didn’t sound alien to him. After checking the battery on his phone, Stan proceeded and plucked a stale cup of water that sat at the nightstand to rinse and refill. Black boxers pulled over his waist, Stan grabbed the clothes that were hanging from his duffle bag at the side of the bed, and slipped on a shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Hey, babe. I know it’s a little early, but we should probably look at that app right now,” Stan pointed, grabbing his phone once more after tying his shoes.

The taller gentleman turned, facing him. After that’s been said, Craig pulled the charger plug away from his iPhone and sat next to Stan on the bed.

Stan looked over his boyfriend’s shoulder plainly as he selected the icon of the app that he downloaded the night before. On a throwaway account, Craig logged into Play’d and typed in his real name and all aliases he could think of on the search bar of the app. A heavy anticipation would weigh with just Stan as the next page would load.   

0 results

Craig smiled.

“Whoa, what?” Stan said.

“It’s gone.”

“How?”

“They took care of it. Want me to look you up too?”

The younger teen gulped before nodding. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Craig interlaced his fingers with Stan’s while he browsed through the phone screen with his free hand. With his thumb, Craig slid it up and down the app before the buffer ring appeared on the black screen. They observed the icons and the lettering on the page loading.  

Zero results of him on the screen as well. It was just like he said. Nothing. Or any other classmates they grew up with. Besides the grainy footage of Kenny getting his whistle blown at a rainy McDonald’s parking lot. They could tell that is was captured by a security camera. For him, that is nothing out of the ordinary. A big relief, from there things were oddly shaping up… a little too fast for Stan’s liking.

For the first few seconds, relief washed over Stan and he felt at ease. No new revenge porn, he can finally breathe again. The fact that he can sleep at night again, made him felt reassured. With the vast collection he had, he thought he and Craig would be in for a lot more.

“So, all of it, huh?” said Stan. “You know how the internet is. Did you check Pornhub? We could be anywhere on the net right now.”

“Yep,” Craig replied, putting his phone away. “I checked, all gone. That’s it.”

“Interesting…”

 “Yeah. Apparently, they had a huge crackdown last night so half the site is deleted. We were minors at the time in our videos, so… they’re gone now.” Craig closed his mouth for a few seconds. “And… that’s that.”   

“But, it’s still there.” Stan narrowed his eyes. “It still exists. It needs to disappear. Our videos, what if people reuploaded them someplace else?”

“One obstacle at a time, sweetie.”

“No, we have to do something. We could be lucky this time. Think about it. Who else is gonna be next if that thing doesn’t go away?”

“I don’t know,” Craig said.  

“Well, we can’t sit here and relax while there are more people getting their privacy taken away from them. We have to do something, we have to let everyone else know somehow. We have to –”

“I swear to god if you do one of your lame awareness things, I’ll gladly sleep on the couch for the rest of this summer.”

“What? Babe, I’m serious… and it’s not lame.”

“I know.” Craig took it back. “If there’s more, we'll take care of it later. I just don’t want this to take over our lives.”

“It won’t, babe, but we can’t just sit back and relax while other people have your… our… I mean… really, that’s it?”

“Tweek said he got rid of them.” Craig rubbed Stan's shoulder. “We’re still fighting, but I trust in his word. We can still make porn, baby, our porn is safe." He kissed his boyfriend's temple. "Now, we need to hurry. Let’s go before I’m late for work and you miss whatever that thing is.”

“Drills,” Stan corrected, still pouty. “And my awareness stuff is not stupid.”

“Okay,” said Craig, exhaling purposefully. “I’m sorry.”  

“Nope, you gotta mean it. Make it up to me.”  

Stan pushed his lips up playfully and Craig grabbed him by the hips and leaned forward to plant a big kiss on his lips before Stan moved his head. Craig’s mouth landed on his face instead. They were at a close proximity still, so Craig bit him. His teeth gently sank over his boyfriend’s cheek. Squinting in disapproval now, Stan made a face that said  _That’s not fair_. He pushed his palms against Craig’s face and squished it.  

“You’re still an ass,” Stan said as Craig moved up.

“Ass.” His boyfriend snorted, laughing. “You offering?”

“Yeah, all the time.” Stan fared a grin. “I sucked and fucked every toy I had when I thought about you yesterday. If I’ve known your cock was that big, I’dve blown you a lot sooner.”

“You’re nasty.”

“You like it.”  

His face moved closer to Stan’s. “Shit, I do.”

They made out evenly over the new quilt on the mattress. Noses barely touching after Craig. Feeling his hands gently wrapped around his throat, Stan's smile grew, knowing what that entails later. Still at the exploring stage of their kinks. Both boys were rough, but it was clearly consensual.

 

* * *

 

The living room was left untidy. Sparky followed behind a lovestruck Stan as they each grabbed a light jacket after checking the weather on Craig’s phone. It took some time to distract his pet before making it outside, but he did.

Avoiding the gust of wind behind him, Craig locked the door to complex. he walked hand-in-hand with his boyfriend to meet up with their friends to be carpooled at their destined locations. Frowning, Stan looked at the empty space where Craig’s Prius use to be. His eyebrows knit together in concern. Knowing partially that there is probably more to it with Craig fighting with Tweek. Now questioning if he himself could be the cause. Something definitely happened.

Stan lets out an irritated sigh. “Do I really need to ask?”  

“No.” 

By his truck, Kenny took a large bite of his Honey Bun over the clear wrapper and waved at Stan with a tooth-rotting mouthful as Craig walked his boyfriend to him. Clyde’s red Honda parked three spaces away.  

“Okay, I’ll see you after work.”

“I love you,” Stan said after their lips separated from another kiss.

“Love you too, babe," Craig said. 

“So enchanting.” The blond sauntered to them. “I almost forget you guys don’t like pussy.”

Craig instinctively flipped him the bird. “Fuck off, Kenny.”

Danish in hand, Kenny curled an arm over Stan’s shoulder and they gait over to his Chevy, waving goodbye to his friend’s boyfriend. His bright eyes stretched at that and then fell back to Stan, who did one of his infamous shrugs as Craig walked away.  

Clyde’s car door shuts loudly over his music after Craig climbed into the seat right next to him.  His best friend was yapping on the phone to the new girlfriend he mentioned earlier that week, dressed in the same shirt and shorts set as Stan.

When the jock ended the call, Craig’s view sets itself on the half ripped opened box of Magnum condoms over the front cupholder with foil packets scattered on the floor. The blank appearance on Craig’s complexion didn’t disturb much.  

“Eh.” Clyde’s cheeks warmed and he chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Craig finished putting on his seatbelt and reached for his iPhone, nonchalantly scrolling through his Twitter.

** AstroCraig **

@AstroCraig

Only God can judge me.

 **TwwkTwk** What God? You’re literally a walking paradox. You and your boyfriend don’t even believe in Him.  

6 hours ago

** AstroCraig **

@AstroCraig

It only takes .005 seconds for me not to fuck with you.

5 hours ago

** AstroCraig **

@AstroCraig

Unfollow me. @TwwkTwk

 **TwwkTwk** Unfollow me FIRST you FCKN BINT!!! @AstroCraig

3 hours ago

The notification buzzed again.

Craig’s face paled.

“Oh, shit. Still beefing, I see,” Clyde said. His voice got airy as he held himself together with a false smile. “Any idea how long it’ll last this time?  ’Cause, I’d really like it if we all stayed friends, thanks.”

Craig pushed a spearmint stick in his mouth. “I have no idea, to be honest.”

“Great,” Clyde declared with faux enthusiasm. "That's pretty cool to know. I just hope ya don't ask me to take sides. I won't be able to do it, man." 

The car pulled out into the street and Craig placed his attention on the next reply.

As they made it to the stoplight, he made a face, seeing the number of followers he had dropping drastically each time he refreshed his page. More than willing to distract himself at this specific moment, Craig decided to fix his hair with his camera enabled. He kept his head down as Clyde talked.   

“So…” said the brunet, hands drumming the steering wheel, “what happened with you guys, anyway? I mean, I was there when everything turned into a clusterfuck...  but I don’t think you ever told me the full story. Or wait. Was I there?”

“It's nothing out of the ordinary, Clyde,” Craig replied. “Tweek’s just being Tweek.”

Clyde’s eyes glazed over. “Ah, sounds about right.”

“Yep.”

Craig glanced through his reflection in the window. As the car went further down the road and the sun was obscured by more clouds. A mute flash of lightning appeared over the skyscrapers they rolled by from a far distance. The colorless sky slowly gained dark clouds overhead with the promise of rain.

While his friend moaned and vocalized his complaint, Craig’s observation bored at the bright screen on his palm as he would bring himself to make an ultimate decision. To his case, it wasn’t really ‘ultimate’, it has been done before.

Do you want to delete the contact?

CANCEL | DELETE

 

The cheating rumors. To tell the full story to Clyde, Craig didn’t know if it would ever be appropriate for him to confide to him about his forbidden tryst with Stan. Especially since Clyde has requested to hear the non-gay version. That would be remotely impossible. 

As Craig thought to himself about what has angered Tweek, when he shouted that he didn’t ‘feel anything’. Though, Stan comparably has said that Craig has gotten better with his emotions, the constant reminders about his lack of empathy from an ex was rather vexing to Craig.

After all the bad times he endured with Tweek, they were even worse friends now than how they were before. Grudge holding was beneath him. So, Craig thought. Whatever has spurred the fight that they have now, it seemed like things were falling again, and careful distance should be planned. For Craig to say in the least, if he would do it all over again, it would be a mixed bag.

If it weren’t for his first gay relationship, he probably would have stayed in the closet longer. The only bright side in that would be that the people in town would have minded their own business. Stan was one of the few good things that came along with it and even he wasn't sure back then.

How they got together would be too difficult to explain to Clyde. Especially with the circumstance they have now. Craig didn't know the exact date. All he remembered was that social media was still thriving back then. With a neutral expression on his face, he watched as the trees and buildings go by in the window. It'd be easier to tell Clyde to figure it out himself to get him off his back.

Besides from what was there, there'd be no explaining. Even to a small degree, his boyfriend Stan was just as private as him. What happened when they were kids, that was old news. Craig thought that Tweek bringing it up the past was poor timing on his behalf, due to the heavy fact that he is very sensitive.

On the contrary, if it is true that Craig has 'smashed' his former rival at a young age, it shouldn't be anyone's concern. A few years had passed. It wasn't any of their business anymore. Other than what he and Stan would let on, they're here today. They would simply not understand. 

 

* * *

 

 

_February, 3 years ago…_

 

It was another wintry jejune day in Craig’s eleventh grade life.

The vapor mist of the frosty Colorado air floated from his mouth as he walked ahead in an icy Wall-Mart parking lot, returning a shopping cart through a narrow rack.

Tricia Tucker’s headphone’s vibrated loudly as she walked past her brother, handing him the last shopping bag to put in the car. 

Gathering his keys, Thomas Tucker walked toward the driver’s seat of his van after his son closed the car trunk.

Hand digging into his pocket, Craig switched his iPhone’s lens to reverse as he raised the device to the darkened sky above him, sticking his tongue out. After taking a few selfie worthy snapshots, he slid into the backseat of his father’s vehicle beside his younger sister Tricia. A reachable solace and their family’s aloofness took a toll over her pinkish complexion.

Each hardly speaking to one another, the Craig and Tricia texted side by side on their own phones during the car ride home. With their family’s trademark gaze, the sixth grader occupied herself with texting a female friend from middle school.

For the most part, the ride was fairly silent. Facebook backdrop illuminating his face, Craig scrolled through a particular person’s profile on a spare account in his browser after checking Clyde’s and his boyfriend’s pages and then Stan's.

Surprised to see that the page hasn’t been deleted yet, he skimmed through the jock's comment feed and reread his relationship status for the fourth time that day.  _Complicated_. Craig instantly frowned. That could mean anything. At this point, Stan could be complicated with Wendy, or complicated with Kenny. Or, any other guy, because he's also part gay. Craig cursed in his head. Asked himself why would he care again. 

None of what he felt would exist beyond his thoughts. The throwaway account and incognito mode was definitely a good coverup. It would save Craig from any accidental likes. Middle school has taught him that. 

Stan’s display picture was of him pulling his eyelids down, revealing his sclera. As opposed to Kenny’s lewd tongue-in-between his index and middle finger. Those were the kind of pictures the McCormick kid has been taking since he discovered a Polaroid.

On the other hand, Stan had grown to become quite the specimen over the past few years to Craig. By that, Craig inwardly meant a freak. He still didn’t know why he liked him. Apart from still being a kid athlete, Stan began dressing darker and he’s gotten whinier.

Inside, Craig thought of words that were befitting of him as he scrolled down his Facebook. Part jock, part walking dumpster, part Hot Topic slogan – and now, bi. Alias;  _Attention Whore._ Mr. Try-hard. Though, inexplicably, Stan was way worse than Clyde with that. At least Clyde didn’t try to be edgy.

**Stan Marsh**

February 1 at 3:36 PM

my heart is a ghost town

1 Comments 8 Shares

 **Kenny McCormick**  awww cheer up ( o Y o )  

2 days ago

Craig kept his face neutral at the first sentence on the wall. What he was doing there, he questioned that and automatically wondering if Stan typed in lowercase letters on purpose to dumb himself down. Kenny did it too as well, it seemed like a trend. Craig checked his Facebook page too. The pattern was certainly meaningless to him and did knock off attraction points.    

**Stan Marsh**

February 3 at 6:23 PM

so this account is pretty pointless now should i delete it? 🤔

 

4 Comments 10 Shares

 **Kyle Broflovski**  That would be a very good idea.

1 day ago

 **Eric Cartman**  Dude, fuck Wendy and her boobs. Get a cougar like that Bryce kid.  💯💯

1 day ago

 **Stan Marsh**  😑🙄🖕

1 day ago

 **Kyle Broflovski**  He doesn’t need a cougar, Cartman. Stan, just come over. I’ll tell you what to do.

1 day ago

 **Eric Cartman**  Fuck you, Kyle. 

8 secs ago

Craig felt the rustle of a fleece throw wedged by his arm and glared at his sister.

"What’s that?” Tricia asked, curiously tilting her head.

“New message from Tweek?” Laura asked from the passenger’s seat. 

“No,” Craig said, typing onscreen fast, switching tabs with his thumbs. “We’re on a break.”

Thomas stopped the car. “Break?”

Craig and Tricia flew forward in their seatbelts. Laura covered her mouth.

“Not those breaks,” the noiret said.  

“Should we be concerned?” Thomas panicked. “We’ll meet at Sizzler. I can talk to Richard. He can – “

“No. It’s fine.”

“Son, are you sure?”

"Yep, I'm pretty sure."

They were already home. Through Craig’s nasally voice, what he just said was still rather disconcerting for his family to hear. 

Laura looked back at Thomas as their son began toting the bags to their snowy front doorstep. Along the way, Craig didn't forget. Each family member raised their middle fingers at one another, and Tricia followed, sliding her seatbelt off her body. 

 

* * *

 

Craig reached for his phone in his pocket again after helping his sister pack away the food in the fridge, cupboards, and pantries.

Maybe his parents were right to worry. Tweek would rarely the one to call breaks in their relationship. While it was okay to be separated once in a while, Craig’s overanalytical brain found it peculiar that the blond would want to put things on hold.  

To Craig’s nonsurprise, it could be the major argument that they had in the eighth grade that could have spurred their current events. The things Craig said that summer night, Tweek was still not over it.

 _Two years, three months, and six days later,_  Craig would still be paying for and apologizing for what he said on that particular summer night in the eighth grade. It was probably the worst he has ever made Tweek cry. Craig didn’t want to think about it. For no specific reason, Tweek had the date marked on his phone calendar to remind Craig.  

After scraping the leftover food from his dinner plate, Craig finished his group chat on his computer after his shower and laid in his bed after watching Jaws on his laptop.

Body loosely curled up in a resting position, Craig blinked sleepily with his back toward the door. Watching his father’s shadowy figure distort over his Desktop and computer chair he didn’t push in.

Craig’s eyes become heavy while he scrolled through his phone. Both words and the blue text bubble he stared at becomes fuzzy.

Vision recovering like a blurred camera’s lens, the bubbles on Craig’s phone appeared again. He had bandages wrapped around his hand like that day in the gym.

With an unenthused focus sliding upward, he looked at the room blankly, remembering where he was now.

It was either  _dejavu_  , or the planet has stopped spinning.

 _Planet Fucking Fitness._ Eyelids shield half his pupils. _Fucking A._

Stan Marsh was standing at the end of a room now. Those galaxy pools Craig tried to ward off so many times, shifted up to him.

Craig had to move away.

Already, it became too much. He walked to the end of the room to return to the top floor with his friends. Craig focused at the red Exit sign.

“Oh. Craig, wait.”

_Fuck. Stay away! Do you know what it means to fuck all the way off?!_

Between his fingers, Stan picked a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, and then there was that touching again. Craig didn’t like it. He remembered this day now, it was Saturday. When the other teen grabbed his wrist and placed the money on his palm, he nearly shivered.

A small frown settled in Craig’s face. It was in a tone worthy of having a tongue snipped off. Getting ready to leave, Craig flipped him off and then, something different happened this time.

“That’s cool,” said Stan. Hidden in his shirt collar, was his own hand. “I have one too.”

Once Stan’s hand appeared again, his middle finger stood he had a wide grin on his face. Before another cheeky vowel drew from Stan's lips, Craig spun and slammed him against the lockers.

The combinations rattled around them.

Neither one of them made haste to comment yet, and they were now suddenly panting. What has possessed Craig to do such a thing, it had gotten him more in the pants than it anything else ever did in his entire life. Stan's shirt was twisted tightly in his fist and now, craning his head up, he grilled Craig with a hard stare.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck you.”  

“Your fucking  _shit-for-brains ass_  wishes.” Craig retorted.

“Actually, _you wish_. I’m not the fag around here, remember?”

Now would be a perfect opportunity to punch him in the face. One slam with a fist would end it all. Craig couldn’t. Something is stopping him. Stan’s shirt was still twisted in his fingers. Craig was going to let go, but he felt the other teen’s careful finger pads grazing over the fabric shielding his upper thigh.

“What the hell are you doing?”

With his teeth gently gnashed, Craig’s breathing became more irregular and he felt his dick playing tricks on him again. The hot organ throbbed painfully inside his sweats as his childhood rival ran his hand over the shape of it before giving it a firm squeeze, dragging his thumb over it.

Gaze sweeping up and leveling up to Craig’s, Stan licked his lips, applying more pressure in his touch.

 _“Christ…”_ Craig breathed out, green eyes pleading. "Don't..."

The boy continued kneading Craig’s heavy junk with his fingers. “What’s that? You don’t wanna come?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“And you’re a cheater…  _you like this._  Get some help, dude.”

“You’re wrong, I Love my boyfriend.”

“What’s his name, then?” Back slumped at the lockers, Stan’s voice was ridiculously sexy to Craig.

“What’s that got to do with anything, shit–”

Stan’s thumb grazed ever so gently over the tip… Eyes squeezed shut, Craig was reduced to a horny, stiff mess. He was going to punch a hole through his classmate with his dick if he kept that up. At the question, a realization hits Craig hard and he miserably profited brain lag from it. With a frustrated noise leaving him, his emotions went haywire.

Craig exploded. “You, shut the hell up! Don’t you dare talk about Tweek like that –  _our love is pure!_  You have no idea!” 

“Bullshit.”

The movie lines were poorly executed from him. Poisonous gravity drawing him in, Craig lets out a long and low moan when Stan added more pressure to his rubs. Craig knew he sounded pathetic, playing the hero was never his specialty. One hand, and then the other, he reached up and squeezed Stan’s neck. He wasn’t coughing and it looked like he’s enjoying it.

“Stay away from me and my boyfriend, dick.”

Stan was pretty humorous in this situation. Which was wrong. The world flipped again when Craig noticed his bare cock was now sitting in Stan’s palm. He glanced down, mortified, as he grew more in his grip.  

“No more talking. Just admit it already. You’ve been wanting this since seventh grade, Craig. If you wanted me completely off your back, you would've done something about it arleady. I’m horny, just fuck me.”

“Bitch.”

“Gaylord.”

“Pussy.”

“Cocksucker,” Stan snarled against his lips.

Craig smashed his mouth against his with a loud thrash behind them. Gasps and sighs from each end. Clawing Craig’s back with one hand, Stan jerked Craig’s sweats down more as they made out sloppily against the lockers.

The leftover effort to defeat him with words has vanished into thin air and has been overtaken with his own tongue driving in Stan’s mouth. Craig gave his bottom lip a tug between his teeth. It took a moment for him to control himself when he lets go for Stan so he could take his shirt. In three swift jerks, he shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Stan gasped when a series of heavy kisses were poured over his exposed collarbone.

Over his chest, his muscles… scourged in between the two as the wicked teen panted heavily thrusting his hips at the older teen. His short fingernails scraped deliciously over Craig’s side. In return, his arm was snatched and he was spun toward the lockers.

Stan inhaled as his classmate's hips slammed harshly against him. _“Fuck!”_

Craig pounded the jock nonstop against the cold metal surface in front of them. Body crumpled lightly against the steel, Stan’s throaty moans carried on across the room. His ridiculous sleazy grin faded as he shuts his eyes. Low murmurs and gasps slipped from his lips. The locker doors clashed some more from the wild movements.

The schoolmates changed positions, fucking on the bench, and on the floor. With a shudder, Craig came and collapsed on top of him.

A period of darkness overtook him. Things got stranger from there. Craig kept his eyes closed. His body was heavy and stiff, he couldn’t move his limbs. The only thing he could see were the back of his eyelids.

Now as his lashes fluttered up, Craig’s gaze ping-ponged back and forth, then down at the pile of blankets that was over him. Holding his face, Craig rose on what looked like a king-sized and a naked back of a male facing him.

Craig was able to move his arms again. A dull panic has taken over him when he gawped at the gentlemen after lifting the blanket under his chin, anxiety rushing him. He was naked too.    

“Hey, quit hogging the blankets!” the person beside him complained noisily.  

There was a headful of brown hair that Craig recognized instantly. The jock turned around to face him.  “Clyde?!”

His green eyes swoop to the bare ass in front of him, now wishing he hadn’t seen that at all or remembered that from gym. Craig suppressed a grimace before tan skin switched to pale in front of him. Another nude boy replaced Clyde’s presence next to him.

Stupid dream.

This had to be one. Another goddamn stupid dream.   

“No! Wakeup!” Craig banged his balled fists on the mattress.  “Wake the fuck up! Why can’t I wake up already?!”

He tensed when a hand floated and touched his face. The noiret reached to pull it away before his vision had been met with the same arrogant classmate he’s thought about rutting for the past few years.

Craig’s eyes glazed over at the presence of Stan.

 _“And…_  of course,” he said flatly.

“You were great last night, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He nuzzled his face in the boy’s hair. “Wait.” Craig’s grip on the blankets tightened.  

Pitch black enveloped him. Familiarity in the atmosphere sets in for Craig as he been roused from his slumber. For his sake, Craig hoped it was for real this time. The sun hasn’t risen yet and it wasn’t spilling from his blinds. Star and planet shaped stickers glowed over his head. Beside his glass of water, his phone blinking with its charger plugged to it.

Craig could hear the howl of the wind and the tree branches brush next to his window outside.

This was reality. It felt like it. Another erotic dream, that’s what it seemed to be. Without his shirt on, Craig was in his bed again, leaking… profusely through his boxers.

A wet, warm, sticky mess. The three elements would hardly bring joy to any teenager.  Thankful that it didn’t happen in public, surging forward with a small frown, Craig pulled the blanket up to his chin and glanced down at the wet spot in the middle of his mattress, at the dark spot in the center of his pants.

“Nice.”

 

* * *

 

 _No Fap Week_ was clearly ineffectual. Head finally cleared, Craig brought himself up to move. After sneaking across the hall for a quick cleanup, he pulled on a pair of dry boxers and dragged the soaked sheets out of his bed to the basement to wash them.

“Jesus, fucking save me,” the obsidian haired teen said aloud. Perhaps, a bit histrionically for his taste. A mental sweeping away of any residue of his dirty thoughts. It would just be Craig and the washing machine now.

The perks of being a teenager with raging hormones and jacking off to a classmate who he doesn’t give two shits about while being in a happy and healthy relationship.

_Yep. That’s completely normal._

It was Tuesday again and things were already coming apart again. Craig’s whole family was still slumbering upstairs.

Heavy sleepers, his parents were. Within the exception of Tricia, who would pretend to be resting, she would actually be just as horrible as her older brother with her phone. 

Water began running in the smart washer machine when Craig punched in the default settings. Moving back a little, he was to gather his school clothes from a basket he left down there to get ready for the morning. There was hardly energy left for him to shudder any more. A spiritual cleanse would be nice.

“Ahh!”

Craig jolted. Gain laundry detergent spilled over his hand. There was that familiar head of wild blond hair, freckles, and a small pixie nose. Wiping his hand on a shirt, Craig recognized his boyfriend instantly.

Their break was supposed to end after school that day, but this was something Craig figured as much. Practically Siamese twins when they started dating, their breaks from each other were constant and often lifted early. `Craig Time’, as Craig would call it, there would be no more of it.

“Oh, hey Tweek.”

The wet stains on the bedsheets. They were poorly shielded by another pile of clothes concealing them. Craig closed the lid on the washer before they could stare at it any longer. In the event to that, a heavy cloud of suspicion grew over his boyfriend again.

“It happened again,” Tweek shrilled. Terror in the boy’s wide-eyes, the young barista glared and jabbed an accusing index finger, "you dreamt about him.”

“No. I dreamt about you, babe.”

“You’re a bad liar,” grunted Tweek, jerking his shoulder away from Craig’s hand. “You’re lying. I know you’re lying! You said you’d get better for me, you said you’d quit it!”

Exhaustion written on his face despite waking up, Craig padded to the kitchen pulling out the frying pan from the bottom cabinet and grabbing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and a package of bacon.

After washing the leftover soap from his hand, Craig rinsed a frying pan and placed it over the hot stove, he began cooking his meal.

Eyebrows creased, Craig hated it when Tweek talked that way. He found a way to multitask and waited by the coffee maker for his drink.

“You’ll cheat on me,” sputtered the jittery blond, following his footsteps, “you’re in love with him!”

Craig finished adding sugar and cream to his coffee sipped the rim of his cup to taste it before offering it to Tweek.

“Here babe, this will make you feel better.”

 _“I don’t want that,”_  Tweek said.

The cup was set at the coffee table when Craig sat on the sofa.

“Can we please not talk about this when my parents are here?” alluded the gentleman in the chullo. “It’s not going to go away, it’s in my mind... I can’t control it, you know this, babe.”

“Nnr! Shit, you’re so full of shit!”

“Stop it, Tweek, it isn’t real life! I wouldn’t fuck him even if his face were covered.”

“D-Don’t say that! Don’t say you’ll fuck him!”

“I’m not. Let’s change the topic now. I need to finish this and take a shower.”

Tweek grumbled. “Yeah. To wash away that giant splooge you made just now, you fucking asshole.”

“Stop it. This conversation is over.” Craig dismissed with a stab at his eggs. “I’m willing to give therapy a shot again if it makes you shut up.”

“You shut up.”

The silverware continued clicking while the teen in the chullo dug at his food once more.

Right away, Tweek wondered what it could be, what the dream was this time, and then other things. Like, why Craig would avoid him most of the time to go to the bathroom. Like, why their dates were shorter as they got older. Like, w _hy did Craig lie?_

Tweek’s fingers gathered in his palms until his knuckles turned white as he decided against pulling his hair. As they sat, the worried boy calmly asked Craig about the dream again. From the noiret’s end, no response.

Craig knew it. It wouldn't be walking on eggshells anymore from there, he would be stepping into a minefield. The morbid curiosity had taken a toll on the other teen’s health. A torrent of hatred spiraled around Tweek’s heart when there was hesitation in a reply. When Craig acted like he didn’t care, it confirmed it.

Tweek could only guess that Craig had it really bad for Stan. At the start, things were different. His boyfriend was disgusted and scared. Tweek really wanted to help him. There was that fear of not as perfect as the school’s hot quarterback. Tweek’s already won Craig, he didn’t want to think of competing. Heavy and hot tears flood from the rims of his eyes, threatening to spill, his mood completely soured.

“So, what was it then, Craig? What was he doing to you this time?”

Nothing, Craig continued digging in his dish.

_You insensitive prick. Say something._

All red flags were being raised again. Now angry that he didn’t know how to stop it, Tweek figured as much that Craig liked it.

Along with the dry silence that hung like a bad smell in the air, a breakdown would be coming any second. Soon.

Knowing his boyfriend too well, Craig still didn’t know how to approach him, his feelings. Craig was still unphased by his concern and that he showed no doubt. From what Tweek observed, there was no emotion. Nothing there. Only emptiness. Craig was hollow, wordless, and it could only get worse from there. Their break did nothing for them, it was supposed to help them. Tweek’s mind was racing now. Pain spreading across his chest. It was getting worse. 

“Why are you like this?”

There was only the clinking of Craig’s eating utensil as he continued biting into his food.

Voice cracking, Tweek insisted. “Why are you like this?”

Craig reached for the saltshaker he brought with him. “Like what?”

 _“Arr!_  See? You’re doing it again!”

“I don’t…” In that instance, it became difficult for Craig to process any new words. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop lying!” Tweek slapped his boyfriend with a pillow, last syllables through gritted teeth. “You always… _lie to me!”_

Craig gaped after he took heed. An arm raised and shielding his head protectively. Since, the first blow had gotten a throb out of it. The hits weren’t as soft as Tweek’s balled fists on his chest.

He punctuated between every new blow. _“You_   _didn’t.”_ Craig narrowed his eyes. _“Give. A. Shit.”_ His hand slipped from attempting to snatch it. _“WHEN. I was THERE!_ Why. Won’t. You. Pay attention?!”

Craig’s arm jerked when he spiked the pillow on the carpet.

“That’s enough!” scolded the noiret. “Can you please… Keep it down? I’m not gonna cheat on you with  _fucking Stan!_  We just need to get more intimate. This wouldn’t even be happening if you'd let me have porn on my phone. _”_

Hatred seared within him. The teen in his oversized sweater twisted the top button of his undershirt at the name mentioned. Misery broke through Tweek’s fragile control, color bleaching from his complexion.

Not a single blink and a lump that wouldn’t quite go down in his throat, Tweek stared forward. Right now, more than anything, he really wanted to tear Craig’s face off. How it was that hard to him, he didn’t get it.    

Stan Marsh. Of all the classmates in school, Craig could at least pick someone he could measure up to, but no, he had to choose the most popular boy in the whole school. The unraveled insecurities were blooming in his beating heart again.

Outside of his relationship with his boyfriend, Tweek could not simply jab a finger at Stan. Although, irritable and sad most of the time, their classmate always meant the best. In the playground when they were young, Stan stood up for Tweek. Before Craig, he was there rooting for him when he was the underdog. Along with that, he has been firmly saying for years that he liked girls.

Along with the rest of the school, Stan has even defended him when Craig denied his feelings and their relationship in the beginning.

Tweek inhaled bitterly through quivering tear dampened lips. Now, he wondered what kind of boyfriend he had. As he had promised to hold his end of the bargain with his devotion, the urge to wreak vengeance on his own love partner would be rather tempting to him at the very moment.

All he had to do was tap Stan’s shoulder. Pull Stan aside in the cafeteria and let him know what kind of creepy and twisted fantasies Craig’s been having of him for the past few years. Tell him everything. It would be another test for their love. Tweek knows that they’ll never break up. Stan would say ‘sick’, he would laugh – everyone including him would hate Craig, and he would deserve it.

“Tweek, look at me.” Craig seized his slim shoulders. “He’s not gay.”

Conked out as an explanation is handed to him, the blond was in a daydream coma.

More tears streamed down his now pinkened cheeks.

 _Shut up,_ Tweek squeaked in his mind.

“He will never be my type, and believe me… When I say I hate him…  I mean, _I really hate him..._  “

Hatred burned more through his glassy eyes as he explained it _. Shut up._

“See, you’re crying. You’re letting your emotions take over again…”

_Shut up!_

Not a blink or a single shift of his shoulders, Tweek lets the deceitful young man wipe his tears. As cruel as a snake lying on the grass, Craig could be as foul when he wasn’t honest. Slimy and filthy. Coldblooded and one-and-the-same, he was no different.

Forehead pressed against his bare shoulder Tweek leaned into a hug as Craig shushed him and began stroking comforting circles over his back.

“It’s okay, honey. Deep breaths,” he spoke soothingly. “We’ll get through this together...”

“Promise y-you’ll get better for me… I love you, Craig.”

“I love you too, honey.”

Light hands skimmed over his bare and warm chest.

Under fair lashes, he glanced over his side, hand moving on its own. His slim fingers curled around the edge of a fork. As it was kept to himself while he wept.

_"AHHGH!”_

The tines broke the flesh. It was a hard plunge underneath Craig’s collarbone. The noiret grabbed his wrist before Tweak went in for another nightmarish lunge with the fork, screaming. After wrestling the utensil from his hand, Craig threw the fork to the ground. A dull numbness and then an excruciating pain shot through him like a thunderbolt.  

Fear filled Tweek’s eyes when he was met with his boyfriend’s betrayed stare. Chin dripping with tear-drenched remorse, he brought his view down. It was all over Craig’s hand. Pale olive skin dripped with vermillion. Liquid droplets gouged onto the couch’s cushion, spotted it with small and medium splatters, then spreading into a thin coating over his chest. Now he was breathing fast. Tweek retreated back, exhaling, trembling, and robbed of his vocal cords.

“You, ungrateful bitch.”

Sharp yelp. Struck by a reflexive backhand, Tweek’s ear rang as he clumsily fell over the coffee table. Elbows pointed when he gripped the wooden surface, he lets out a sorrowful moan as he lowered his head.

Craig pushed himself up on his hand, his own eyes softened when he realized what he had done, what Tweek had did when he hid his face in his arm. He could die. This could be fatal. Too much blood, there was… too much of it.  

A pair of small feet with painted toes was by the furniture Tweek propped himself against. In front of the entertainment center in the living room, Tricia saw them. Her pupils were frantic, before meeting the equally green gaze of her older brother.

Low agonized sounds spilled from Tweek that moment. As his croak began to morph, he could no longer hold back tears. Body shaking, he sobbed loudly against the table. Craig’s countenance went ghostly at the sight of the blond on the floor and now his sister, Tricia. The girl’s face flashed in anger. She swiftly turned around to inform their parents. To let them know what Craig did, when she caught a glimpse of the lines of crimson pouring over his fingers.

“Tricia!” Craig called.

The lights flicked on at the top level of the home, spilling illuminance down the stairs, stretching over the walls. Fingers digging into her palm, the girl stood back after she pulled her sight away from the facedown plate and crimson fork.

“Tricia,” In a voice that matched his pain, Craig cried, “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t – ”  

Shaking her head, the girl took off and sprinted to their parent’s bedroom.

That wasn’t the time to sit and idle. Getting up abruptly, Craig walked swiftly to the kitchen sink without bothering to turn on the light in the room. Nearly tripping, Tweek seized forward and followed after wiping the blood from his lip.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to!” Cheeks wet, the blond stammered hoarsely as Craig snatched a dishrag and placed it under the faucet. “I’m so sorry, Craig.”

“It’s okay.”

Thomas yelled from the living room. “Son?!”

The noiret hurried, cursing under his breath as more red soaked through the damp washcloth.

 

* * *

 

The whir of a still ambulance truck pierced through the frosty morning air by the Tuckers’ detached garage.

With the constant flashing over the hood from the rotating beacons, its warning flashes burned brightly and merged through the dark street, which resembled glowing rocket popsicles.

As two male paramedics walked toward the front doorstep of the house, a skinny blond boy rolled down the street in a teal bike with his foot planted on the pedal.

 _“A-whoah_ ,” A shocked Butters Stotch whispered quietly to himself after doing a doubletake at the scenery.

Slouched forward holding the handlebars of his two-wheeler, his mouth hung open at the image of Mrs. Tucker wiping her eyes before she agreed to let the men step inside. Right behind them were police officers there to investigate the scene.

 

* * *

 

“Uh-huh! I saw it with my own eyes, you guys! I’m tellin’ ya. Tweek took a knife and he stabbed Craig like fifty-eight times _._ It was fucking epic, dudes.”

At their usual breakfast table, Cartman talked through the green straw in his mouth, lifting his ice-coffee frappe.

“Save it, Cartman,” Kyle glared. “I think, we’d all know if Craig were dead.” Spreading cream cheese over his food with a plastic knife. “He literally tweeted a picture of his hand a minute ago. You could’ve said it was all Butters. Nice try, though, doughboy.”

“Nyeh. Fuck you, filthy Jew.”

Kenny bit into his Pop-tart. “Knives hurt, man.”   

“Is he okay?” Stan asked, removing his mouth from the rim of his water bottle.

The redhead and brunet of the table gave each other looks and shrugs before Cartman went first.  

“Dude.” The husky boy grabbed Stan’s blueberry muffin from his tray. “He’s fucking Craig. Who gives a fuck?”

Stan frowned at that. The statement was harsh, but Cartman wasn’t completely wrong. Craig has become a bigger bully of sorts over the years. Going by that, it was something Stan didn’t want to figure out. He instantly shook off the thoughts of anything concerning him and his relationship. It was his and Tweeks’ business and he didn’t care. The only next thing that came to mind was them putting each other in the hospital. Now that Stan is older, it wouldn’t be as funny to him or their mutual friends.  

“Yeah, I agree dude,” Kyle remarked. “Everybody knows that Craig is like the biggest douche in the school. He probably deserved it.” Taking a bite of his bagel, concerned for Tweek. “I hope he didn’t hurt him…”

“Yeah, l hope not either,” said Stan, pushing away his thoughts.

The four emerged from their seats, dumping their leftover food and wrappers in the trash bin.

 

* * *

 

An assortment of early Valentine’s Day posters and ornaments filled the school’s crowded hall. Metallic streamers of silver and fuchsia dangle and danced from the ceiling to the floor. Laced paper hearts and pink sticky notes bedazzled the whole floor. A combination of body mists wafted through the air. It smelt of scents from the girl’s locker room. To Kenny McCormick, it was stimulating in the least, he took another big whiff.  

Stan deftly spun the numbers on his locker combination as his friends stood by him with their own books. Finger underneath the metal hook, the boy in the beanie was to open it to put his backpack inside. A pile of cards and envelopes slipped from the edge and fell to his feet. He vented a sigh.

“Ninth graders again?” Kenny asked Stan with no sudden reply. Cheeky grin.  “I don’t mind. Send them my way.”

Kyle and Cartman directed their attention ahead to the recognizable couple that emerged near them, wearing matching oversized sweaters, and holding hands.

Tweek had a large bouquet of roses and carnations in one arm. Craig took a gander at the bulletin boards next to a glass trophy display. As what Kyle had stated, things looked normal. Oddly enough for Craig, he wasn’t on his phone this time. Tweek was tugging his sleeve with his other hand and pointing at the glass case.

“See, I told you. They look fine.” Kyle crossed his arms.

Cartman raised his drink to his face. “Nah, I heard they beat the shit out of each other this morning.”

“So, first you were there, and now you said you heard about it?” Kyle said aloud. "Now, I'm confused. Either you were there or not, which one was it lard ass?!" 

As another argument inflates, Stan lowered his eyes. Kenny whispered something in his ear and chuckled, gaining a small smile from him. Stan shoved his chest.

“Quit it, dude.”

While they were blended in with a small crowd to look at a few paintings from the art kids, Craig slowly peered over at the direction at Stan and glared at Kenny who had his head down. A mixture of confusing signals went off in Stan’s head as he evaluated his classmate from a distance.

Something new was certainly conjuring in his thoughts, he couldn’t quite pinpoint yet. It certainly wasn’t negative at all. Craig’s eyes were soft and predatory at the same time. They weren’t creepy. It turned Stan on and now he wondered where he could get another guy to look at him like that. Not because he would be gay or anything, he was still figuring it out.

_Ah, that’s it. I know what he wants. He probably wants to say sorry for how he was last Monday. I can live with that._

With a shred of hope, thinking his friends were wrong, Craig stuck his tongue out at Stan before turning around again.   

_Nope, still a dick._

“Bro.” Cartman jammed a hand in his hoodie. “Why the fuck is Craig starin’ at me like that?” 

“Like what?” Kyle asked.   

“Like I’m some fuckin’ four-course meal from Red Lobster.”

Pretending he’s texting, Stan shrugged. The noiret in the chullo turned his head at the bulletin board again after staring a second time.

“Yeah. I know, right?  _Rude.”_  Kenny muffle-cackled sarcastically, elbowing Stan to laugh with him. “You’re a woman, not a piece of steak.”  

“I’m juicy as fuck, bitch.” Cartman shook the ice in his frappe.

“More like a dried-up and used tampon.” Grabbing his sides, Kenny chuckled. “That’s been sittin’ out by a window all day.”

Scratching his cheek with the ball of his index finger, Stan’s eyes flit back and forth before he reached for his locker combination again when insults were hurled. Ignoring the shout he received and the finger from Cartman, Kenny all but smiled.

“I heard Heidi’s a lesbian now,” Kyle brought up, now with Stan resting his forehead against the locker door.

“Sweet,” Kenny beamed. 

“’Kay… that’s cool, I guess?”  the noiret glowered. “Can you guys take that business someplace else? I’m really not in the mood to hear that today. My life keeps spiraling downwards and I’d kind of like to die in peace.”

“No, absolutely not,” said an infuriated Kyle. “That’s too bad, Stan, you're going to hear this. Suck it up. We’re fucking teenagers, that’s what we do. We talk shit about the other kids and laugh at them. We fuck up, and they do the same thing to us. What’s so unusual about that?”

“I don’ know, everything,” Stan replied crankily. “Other peoples’ fuckin’ business. Why the hell is it so important to know who’s dating and who’s screwing who, let alone anything else?”

“God, you’re such a killjoy right now. For once, can you not be that?! We don’t need a reason, Stan. It’s  _just fun!”_

“And?”

Kenny dug into Stan’s backpack, unwrapping a Kit-Kat bar and biting into it.

“Okay, so? Heidi’s dating whoever, Tweek and Craig are fighting, and Wendy dumped me. What’s there to know? All of it is shitty. Just, useless shitty information. Like, I don’t care.” The noiret said with a scornful laugh.  _“I really_  don’t care.”

“Well, you’re gonna,” the Jew differed, “once you find out who the hell Heidi’s been seein’.”

Butters butted in. “Fellas!”

“Aye Butters, where the hell you been?” Cartman called, sucking from his straw.

“Uh-hey, Eric. Art room,” Butters answered. “Didja guys hear what happened this morning?” 

Stan’s lips formed into a tighter line. “We already heard about the stabbing thing, Butters.”

“Yeah, but didja hear about that  _other thing?”_

 

* * *

 

 

The group disassembled when the morning bell rang. After Craig walked Tweek to his Social Studies class, he met up with Stan. They stood by a row of lockers at the front of their homeroom, nodding and agreeing on the next place and time for Stan’s tutoring.

First period started and Mr. Wood leaned against his desk holding a paperback of _Lord of the Flies_ in his hand.

“It was clear to the bottom and bright with the efflorescence of tropical weed and coral. A school of tiny, glittering fish flicked hither and thither. Ralph spoke to himself, sounding the bass strings of delight.” Butters read from the book. “Whizzoh!”

Bending down to show off the right amount of cleavage, the teacher from the math hall Mrs. Hutchinson was seated atop a desk in front of Stan in his first period classroom again.

Gag faces were made behind Craig by a buxom curly haired blonde. Bebe flicked her paper in her desk, twisting her finger in her hair with another hand and appearing to be just as annoyed as the blasé classmate of hers that wielded a blue pen in his hand. She looked stunned when shadows approach the door of the room.    

Two sheriffs in black uniforms walked into the room from the door entry. One of them gripped his belt with a hardy wide foot stance and mirror lensed sunglasses. Bebe smacked her gum loudly and pulled her phone up. As if she knew what was to come, she sifted through the onscreen menu for the recording icon in it.

“Marie Ann Hutchinson?” the first officer called out.

“Yes, that’s… me.” The woman slid from the desk and neatened her pencil skirt. “Is everything alright, sir? What can I help you with?”

“You’re under arrest.”

“What?” she cried.

Stan’s face was drained of its color. Kenny raised his head from resting on his knuckles. Bebe rose up, her red lips in the shape of an ‘o’.

Genuine shock etched in the teacher’s face, her eyes bulged slightly when her wrists were pulled back.

There was a younger cop who leaned against the doorpost on his muscled shoulder. With a gaze averting to him, Stan swallowed thickly, vision swimming over the lines of the man’s toned arm and his bulging biceps. He stopped and cursed at himself immediately. 

While holding his phone, capturing the footage, Craig noticed Stan, but kept his face neutral.

She sounded distraught now, the older blonde. “On what account?”

“Twenty-one counts of statutory rape and smuggling heroin.”

Bebe’s jaw dropped, mid-smiling. “Damn, girl!”

“Wait a minute… that isn’t something I would do. I would never do that.” She backed, from the desk, standing on her feet. “I would never do that.”

“Look, ma’am. We don’t make the rules. You commit a crime and we take your ass to jail. It’s the law,” said the cop.

“Get her out of here, officer!” howled Red from the back.

“That’s ridiculous!” Now crying, the young teacher’s face flushed with tears. “I’d never hurt anyone. I’d never hurt these students!”

“Come with us, miss.”

“No, stop!”

Mrs. Hutchinson was jerked toward the door, she stumbled.

The girls in class didn’t seem to mind. Kevin Stoley cringed at the sound and when the petite woman was hauled out of the classroom. Kenny hunched forward, discontent etched in his face from the way the woman was handled. Sighing in the midst, now saddened that he’ll never be able to ‘cop a feel’. Mrs. Hutchinson’s hair was a fuss when they stood at the door side.

The younger officer by the door tipped his hat. “Stay safe kids.” 

“God bless you, sir,” Craig said vaingloriously, voice alight with cheerful disdain.  

“Nooo!” Butters screamed suddenly.

“God bless you, son.” The older officer appeared by the door again. “God bless America.”

 

* * *

 

  
The frosty air nipped against Stan’s skin as he rushed out of the school building, once the last bell rang and he collected his things. Weaving through the white fog outside, he squinted at what looked like a group of boys pelting his friend Kenny in the crotch with snowballs.

Holding his books in one arm, Stan’s soles crunched over the ice as he bolted there to put an end to it.  

Cartman and Butters collected money as the blond grinned, spread eagle, stiffening his stance again.

“Dude, knock it off –  _stop!_  What the hell is wrong with you?!” Stan growled, snatching the collar of a male in a green jacket.

His fist crunched when it collided against nameless’ cheek.

“What the f –  _get the fuck off’a me!_ Ya fuckin’ doofus!”

Stan’s shirt rode up halfway as their bodies slipped and tangled in the snow with their clothes covered in dusted frost. A group of sophomore girls a few steps away commented and niggled at them.  

In annoyance breathing through his nostrils, Kyle bent down to pull his best friend off of the other boy. The books the Stan cradled in one arm were scattered to the ground. College-ruled paper ruffled loudly in the wind. The entire group that was hurling snowballs earlier had astonished faces before they disassembled, leaving their friend behind.

“Dude, would you relax? It’s just a game,” informed the redhead. “Every snowball that hits Kenny’s balls, equals a dollar. He made like fifty yesterday.”

“You’re open,” green jacket snarled, snatching one of the snowballs from a plastic pail, and spiking his throw.

A tightly squeezed snowball pelted hard against the center of Stan’s groin and he cried out falling to the ground. Whatever was in it… felt like an icicle. Slim body twisting in agony, Stan turned his face to the ground and cupped his balls with both of his hands with an audible gasp. A hiss and he lets out another silent cry from the pain.

Carman hooted and hollered, resting his hands on his knees.

 _“Hahaha!_  Your fuckin’ face, dude! This is fucking great!  _Hahaha-haha! Loook Butters!”_

 _“Eh-hehe!_  Aw, man.” Equal belly laughter from the blond. “That is kinda funny.”

Kyle scowled.  “Jesus Christ.”

A line of yellow school buses hissed at the curb where the boys stood. Kenny walked over and lent a hand to Stan. Wetness pricking the corners of his eyes the teen under him took it, watching his step. Pouting, Stan rested an arm over the fur of his orange jacket.

“So, you and Craig…” Kyle brought up, pulling the hem of Stan’s shirt down for him. “You’re really letting him tutor you for English class.”

Stan adjusted his beanie over his dark hair, finally able to respond. “Yep.”

“Wow... I’m really surprised he even gives a fuck. It’s been a week now and you’re really okay with this?”

“Eh.” Restraint in bothering to rub the ache between his legs. “No harm done in it, Ky. You always said you could use a break, anyways.”

“No  _harm done?”_   

“Yeah. We talked about it before first period today. Last week was my house, he said we can go to his place today.”  

Ten-dollar bill in his palm, Kenny flicked the center with his finger before stepping in the between Stan and Kyle, hugging them close to him. The male in the green jacket walked away after handing Kenny his money.

 _“You’re going_ to his place?” Kyle enunciated to Stan, cutting him off before he could speak. “Dude, are you fucking nuts? After the fight?”

Butters gave Cartman his share of the money and pocketed more for Kenny to grab later. 

“Yeah, I’ve been there already. What’s wrong?”

“I mean, obviously everything. Are you fucking serious?” Kyle probed further. “Did you see the size of the bruise Tweek had on his cheek?”

“No. How big was it?”

“Oh, Craig. I crashed at his crib once.” Kenny wiped his nose. “He ain’t that bad.”

“Really?” Kyle’s face smarted.

“Yeah, our sisters hang out all the time.”

Finding that bizarre, Kyle drifted further into his train of thought, keeping his opinion in an invisible Ziplock bag just in case he needed it again. Their usual group became smaller. Butters followed Cartman to his newly bought SUV. Stan finished zipping up his backpack where he placed his books.

“I’m just sayin’.” In his periphery, Kyle caught Tweek and Craig a yard away. Behind his gloved hand, he whispered. “You ever notice how weird Craig’s been acting this year?”

Arms folded behind his head, Kenny was next to leave and began his search for Kyle’s car.

Stan laughed. “Craig’s weird all the time. He’s a fuckin’ nerd, nerds are weird. You’re weird.”

Kyle glared at that. “Just sayin’. I mean, just around you, specifically.”

“Around me?”

“At PE yesterday, Craig threw a basketball at your head, and right in the middle of advisory class, he told everybody your Reddit username. It’s ScrubLord180. How the hell would he know that?”

Stan’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Ah, I remember the basketball thing. To be fair, he did ask me to move… Other than that, he’s just simply bein’ Craig. A boring immature dildo that gets off to the failure of others trying to do good. What else is there to know?”

“I’m just sayin’, Stan. You’ll be at his house, for the most part. You guys disagree on the tiniest things already… Let’s not add fuel to the fire when you visit him. There might be a chance you’ll piss him off and he fucking kills y–”  

“Perfect. Maybe he can help a guy out, then.” Stan offered a fake smile. “I wanna die anyway.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“What?” Stan secured his own straps over his shoulders. “I know it sucks, but every relationship has its ups and downs. You’ve known Craig just as long as the rest of us. The worst he’ll do is talk shit about us all day and he does that already. Besides, Tweek can totally kick his ass.”

“Yeah, okay, but still. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s distracting and I don’t like it.”

As Kyle ranted some more, Stan watched as Tweek and Craig stepped closer to them, fingers clasped and laced together. They looked like the usual, ordinary, lovey-dovey couple. As opposed to how they were six years ago, occasional disagreements, so on.

Halting his footsteps, Tweek whispered something in Craig’s ear before kissing him on the lips and waving goodbye. After Craig nodded, he walked toward Stan and Kyle’s direction, backpack slung in one arm.

Snow flushed cheeks darkened at the image of the couple that just kissed. Stan wondered what it would feel like with another boy, if he’d ever get the chance to do that again. That’s if, he chose to live for the rest of the year. The experience with Kenny was overall pleasant, but it was quickly something he could get enough of. Being all too clear with himself, Stan would know that that kissing other boys wouldn’t magically make his feelings for Wendy go away. Not anytime soon. He’s already succeeded with two other guys after. No spark. Which, was a good thing. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

“It’s 2:30. We can go now.” Without looking Craig strode past him and Kyle, his voice floated in the air by them.

“All right,” Stan said, catching up, slightly caught off-guard by his presence. “Let’s go.”

“Send my regards to Tweek too, fucktard.” Kyle brushed the snow off the roof of his car. “By now, I really hope you’ll have your shit together.”

Craig looked flummoxed. As it would be unusual for Kyle Broflovski, as a person that usually pulled someone aside for a conversation. This was mildly inappropriate for him. Utterly speechless, Craig’s green irises raked over his dark-haired schoolmate who looked just as baffled at Kyle’s remark. Stan grabbed his elbow and they finally gained some distance from the Jew. They walked over to his parked Prius.

“So, I sorta set my car on fire yesterday... You’re takin’ me, right?”

“What? How the fuck did you do that?”

“It’s not important. Just hurry it up already. I think the freshman girls are oglin’ us. Just get us out of here. I’ll get you a Big Mac or something.”

The noiret in the chullo stalled for a few seconds. “Make that a Quarter Pounder and we have a deal.”

Stan hid his face from the girls with the side of his hand. “Deal.”

After that, he started toward the passenger’s seat.

Avoiding looks from Stan, Craig opened the car door. “Fucking A, there better be onion rings in that combo.”

Stan balked at that. “Who says it’s gonna be a combo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. Twas a hefty update. Sorry for being late. I hope everybody enjoyed that better than I did writing it. Just in case there are any wtf sentences in there, I'll have you guys know that this copy of the chapter is 100% organic and beta-free, and I rewrote 2 scenes like 5 times. 
> 
> But yeah! Big shout out and thanks to everyone that reviewed in the last chapter. This is my gift to you all. Thanks, you guys. Also, I'm really sorry that past Stan/Craig didn't interact much here. It has a plot now, so the sex parts with them are gonna build slower... or not? Thanks again for the support! xx 💞


	9. Rigor Mortis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Stan's dreary affairs come to an end._  
> 

_February, 2 years ago_

_Sunday afternoon, forest near Stark’s Pond…_

Kenny pulled a lemon printed Bic lighter from his jacket. He wiggled the thumb that got caught in the hole of his pocket before fully fishing it out. The lighter switched on under his chin. As he balanced a cigarette to his pink chapped lips, it burned a warm and bright hue as he sucked from the tip. Kenny passed the Bic next to Cartman.

Cigarette between his own lips, the portly brunet leaned forward to light it, taking a few puffs and blowing a plume cloud at the wind. A shoulder-length beside Kenny, Cartman pulled out another cigarette and offered it to Kyle. Nodding no, the teen in the ushanka politely declined with a small hand gesture. Kyle’s business casual look has been replaced by a turquoise flannel shirt and powder blue ripped jeans. The boys beside him were equally fashionable.

The group stood at an open space in the woods over rotten and wet leaves squashed under their rubber soles. Pale-gray was the color of the sky above their heads. Butters who was usually laughing occupied himself with smoking. He took a puff from a cigarette Kenny offered. He heaved and coughed up phlegm, as the other blond patted his back.

“Take it easy,” Kenny said, gently repositioning Butters’ bony hand. “Take smaller puffs, yeah, you got it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, what’s taking this dude so long?” Cartman muttered under his breath. “I’m tired. That asshole said he’d be here ten minutes ago.”

Kyle talked on his phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m almost there.” Stan’s voice leaked from the case. “Look ahead. You should see the headlights from where you are.”

The phone was pulled down from Kyle’s face. After his hand drifted to his side holding it, very soon, well enough like Stan said, he could see the silver of his Toyota Camry glinting through the limbs of evergreens and cottonwoods stripped of foliage. The vehicle cruised slowly through the orange dusted trail, over the dead grass.

“Hey, who’s that?” Lifting an index finger, Kenny pointed to the guy at the passenger’s seat. Butters continued practicing smoking, he coughed a little in the background.

Dirt and of rocks crushed underneath the tires as Stan pulled over near them with the sound. After killing the engine, the teen pulled himself out of the car with his varsity jacket on. The car door slammed behind Stan. He walked to his usual set of friends, with but a few items and pocketing his keys. In the same jacket he wore, Clyde Donovan revealed himself, emerging from the car, pushing his fingers through his windswept hair.

Cartman looked over Butters’ shoulder. Joining up with the four, Stan plucked a cigarette from Kenny’s hand and placed it between his lips. An orange light appeared behind his cupped hands when he brought the lighter to it. The heavier brunet sipped his beer, slurping at the edge, and was the first to toss a peculiar glance at Clyde with the can up to his mouth before fully turning around.

“Hey Clyde,” Cartman started after taking another sip, “what the hell y’doing here?”

The jocks in the red and white jackets exchanged glances before one of them approached to say something.

“I just read the text,” Kenny spoke, sweat at his amber brow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“It’s okay.” Stan blew smoke through his nose. “You’re fine, Ken.”

“Wait a minute, what happened again?” Kyle turned his head to Stan.

“We got into it with the kids at North Park again.” Clyde took the Four Loko that Cartman offered. “This guy saved me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be fucking dead right now.”

“Yeah, there’s not a single scratch on you, I’ve noticed. What did you guys do?” questioned the redhead.

“What else? We told them to suck our dicks and ran.” Clyde threw an arm up. “There was way too many of them. There’s a college party at Denver soon. I’m not trying to get a broken nose before the big day. We ditched them, we zipped and got the hell out of there.”

Cigarette sliding to the corner of his mouth, there was an irritated look Stan shot Clyde before his best-friend faced him. Disbelief was etched on Kyle’s features and he directed his glance at Stan, which morphed into a judgmental glare. The Jew's face said it all: I’m judging you. ‘This isn’t like you.’ His tongue tingled to say those ways, he could taste them. The noiret shifted his focus at the rocks by his feet as Clyde stepped more into their circle.

“What?” Stan made a face back at Kyle.  “We’ll get ‘em next time.”

Kenny shrugged and slurped the cold beer from the roof of his mouth.

“Yeah, we’re pussies,” Clyde said with a dumb smile, before nudging Stan with his wrist.

The noiret flicked the plastic lighter switch on and off again.

“So, any word from Wendy? Just lookin’ out for a bro.”

“And you care when?” Kyle frowned. “And why?”

Taking another swig of his drink, Clyde looked at the notification on his phone before opening the message.

“Oh, nevermind. Looks like Token’s here. See ya guys around.”

“Peace, dude.” Cartman lifted his can.

The jock in the red chucks thanked his classmates for his drink with a raise of the can before ascending to the forest. Stan held his beer can up at Clyde and balanced his cigarette in his mouth. Kyle eyed him back, standing near him once again.

When Clyde wasn’t in clear view anymore, Stan cocked his head up. “Gas?”

The bright container of benzine was sitting next to Kenny’s foot. Stooping downward, the blond lifted the plastic tank, handing it over to Stan. Silence awkwardly caressed Kyle as he watched what the other boy was doing. As the cap had been pulled off from the jug of gasoline, and the containers of lighter fluid. Stan made his way around his car with casual strides. Like water, the flammable liquid splashed against the windows and the roof, drenching it in streamlets, running over the windows and windshield.

Watching from a fair distance, Cartman gave a lopsided sneer, taking another sip from his can and then stubbing his cigarette over it and pushing it inside the hole.

Butters’ mouth was in the shape of an ‘o’. “What’s he doing, Eric?”

“You’ll see,” Kyle answered for Cartman.

“He’s getting rid of that bitch,” said the brunet, lowering down an octave, “that’s what he’s doing.”

Apart from the curious blond that had just asked the question, the four gathered closer to Stan. Picking up a cardboard box from the ground, Kyle was the first to approach Stan, holding a plastic sealed case, containing two movie discs. Kyle passed it over.

Cartman began. “Season six DVD of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

Walking over, Kenny was next.

“Cotton candy misted T-shirt from The Walking Dead festival at Denver.” Cartman opened a bag of Cheesy Poofs as the top was draped over Stan’s arm.

The stocky boy glanced down at a glossy picture, picked up from the box.

“Ah, the photo of Stan and Wendy on their first real date ever,” he hummed to Stan, waving it with a catlike smirk. “Pretty precious. I was wondering when you were going to let this one go. I would say, it’s the most revolting of them all. Hopefully, after this, you’ll have better taste in chicks.”

“Just pass it over, Cartman,” Kyle said from behind.

“Pastel pink handkerchief with a kiss mark on it, an issue of Archie Comics with a bent front cover, DVD cover of The Titanic, dried-up flower from the botanical gardens…”

Butters blinked as Kenny relaxed rested an arm over his shoulder. Scattered paraphernalia decorated the hood of the car along with additional pictures clipped against the windshield wipers. Along with more photos and knickknacks, the friends collect more boxes of items to place on top of the vehicle. Stuffed animals, ‘Get Well Soon’ cards, even a pair of floral-printed panties that Wendy purposely left behind when she slept over. Kenny flipped the box in his hand upside down to show that it was empty.

All of them, Stan had chosen to douse his precious possessions and with more gasoline. A few long steps away, the four others idled in their spots. Stan emptied the tank and grabbed another that Kenny sat on the ground before he moved away.

Another important leap of his lifetime, that’s what this would be… if Stan is successful with this.

Time began shifting at different speeds ahead of him. The image of his friends blurred his eyes. Stan stepped forward, mechanically. He picked up the 5-gallon container on the ground. Alone in his thoughts, he contemplated his next move.

As his friends wait for him, he splashed the liquid over his clothes and shoes.

Lifeless gaze in his face, Stan drew the match from his coat pocket and struck the drum against the coarse paper.

The golden flicker floats seductively in his eyes before he dropped the match. With a loud swoosh! bright flames circled around Stan’s shoes. The ember climbed up his damp pants legs and grew by the second. 

Stan loved the smell of gasoline. When he inhaled, the sharp, pungent, and heavy smell invaded his senses. Pacifying and delectable. It was strong, delightful, invigorating. An uncharacteristic sadistic smile grew Stan’s face as the flames grew and rose up to his knees, flaring uncontrollably over his arms, chest, and legs. No tears in the beginning as he would accept this. Stan stayed stiff in his spot. Bright ember crawled up his body. His cigarette hung from his mouth.

Kenny and Kyle turned around and Cartman brought his head up.

 _Useless fuck._ An unfamiliar whispery tone invaded his thoughts. _Everyone hates you. You’re worthless…_

Stan closed his eyes and the chants began to overlap. Some, in the voices of people he already knew. _Stupid. Coward… Worthless. Failure…_

“Stan?” he could barely make out Kenny’s voice.

“Stan!” Kyle screamed.

The lithe quarterback was rigid in his spot. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, the memories of Wendy came swarming in his mind as he stood there motionless.

 _What am I doing here?_   Stan asked inwardly. _Why am I still alive? What’s the point of living? What’s the point...?_

His eyes were open now, glassy, orange light flecks over them. Translucent beads dripped from his chin and the flames devoured him.

_Get used to it. She’s gone._

Everything rewinds. No heat. A numb coldness surrounded him. Stan was no longer on fire, but instead, he was gripping the matchbox and stick in his hands again.

Unharmed. Stan’s clothes were dry and intact, and he wasn’t submerged in the flame.

Eyebrows squished together, Kenny and Butters raised their faces up in concern.

Cartman put his hands up by each side of his face. “Boo! Boo, Stan. You’re supposed to drop the match. How hard can that get for you? My god, boo!”

The sniffling jock’s shoulders trembled and he roughly wiped his face with the back of his arm.

“Thanks for coming here, you guys,” Stan managed, looking down. “I just…”

He broke down into more tears. Finally, he could cry.

“Fuckin’ Christ, man. I don’t know why you’re complainin’ when you could bang practically any chick in town.” Cartman rolled his eyes, Stan continued weeping.

“It’s time for a reality check. Move on. Your relationship with Wendy is dead. It’s easy. I’ll even help ya out, just lend me the match,” the rounded brunet continued.  “It’s just a lame hunk of metal you fucked her in a zillion times. When I pushed my old car into the pond, I just told the cops one of those North Park assholes did it.”

The empty stare was back at his shoelaces and they blurred in front of Stan again. More hot tears rolled and fell from his chin.  

“Get rid of the feels, dude,” advised Cartman. “Don’t worry about the car. You can have your dad get you a better one just like my mom.”

Kenny gritted his teeth at him. “Just be quiet.”

The woeful voice was choppy in the wind. “I just keep screwing up…”

“There there now, Stan. You still got us, buddy.” Butters had rushed over there to place his hand on the noiret’s back. “Everything will get better.”

“It’s okay, dude. We can do this some other time,” Kyle said nearby, comfortingly. “Or…  matter of fact, an even better idea, let’s not do this at all.”

Cartman grumbled before shifting in his spot, now squinting, seeing the other boy didn’t budge.

“You guys are pussies! We’re just standing around here doing nothing! Burn it!” he yelled. “Eh, fuck it. I guess if anybody wants the job done around here…”

Stan pulled a lighter out of his pocket and held a twig up to it. “No.”

Over the trail of gasoline that was spilled on the ground, Stan dropped the stick away that was set on fire. The grass ignites. Autumn blazed and crackled as it grew into a brighter orange toward the car. After wiping his face, Stan pulled his varsity jacket off, winded it up, and chucked it at the car. Smoke and ashes rose to the air as he, Kyle, and Butters walked to Kenny and Cartman.

“She doesn’t control me anymore. I'll do it.”

Inferno ballooned and spilled over and the glass of the rolled down windows.

“Woo! It’s about damn time! I’d say, you made the right decision.”

“I’m done. From now on, you won’t make any more decisions for me anymore. Nobody will,” Stan announced. Now as the other boys stepped up, he brushed near the corpulent brunet, whispering threateningly. “You got by lucky. Call me a pussy again, we’ll see what happens.”

“Whoa, Stan.” Airy and condescending, Cartman whispered with his voice present. “Calm down, _you’re out of control.”_

“You guys, what about the animals?” Butters asked.

Some self-consciousness restored in him, Stan’s lips peeled backward with him in need for him to reply. Idiot, he has been warned. He wanted to say that he hasn’t thought that far. Early that morning, Kyle has talked about that specifically to him, what interference his actions could do with nature. Partially ashamed, Stan averted his blue eyes.

Granted, he has thought it through, he didn’t mean to hurt anyone or anything. It was meant to be symbolic. Kenny glanced worriedly over his shoulder at Stan.

“What about them?” Cartman said, stepping ahead. “C’mon you guys, let’s go, my feet are fuckin' killing me.”

 

* * *

 

“So, just like that, huh?” Craig asked breezily, pulling away from fast food building in his car. “So, the little forest fire, that was you guys.”

Stan was still radical and irresponsible as ever. Daylight stretched through Craig’s misty car window, and with that, Stan had explained what happened the weekend before.

In the passenger’s seat beside Craig, he had his chin rested on his palm while he gazed out at the street after sharing his story with his classmate. Straw in his mouth, Craig pulled his bag of food from the McDonald's drive-thru window and handed Stan his order and his drink.

The fire was on the news. Stan left out the depression parts of it. “You gonna tell?”

“No. I just think it’s stupid, like all the things you and your retarded friends do.”

Previous statement aside, the boy spoke to Craig. “Yeah, it was pretty rough…”

Stan dug in his paper bag and brought a french-fry to his mouth. He thought about his friends again, staring at the front view mirror. As he would welcome the heat over his tongue and the salty savoring over his taste buds, his eyes dimmed quickly at a reversed Raiders sticker at Craig’s back window. Stan looked down and squinted, pushing another fry in his mouth.

“What?” _– are you looking at?_ The sentence is incomplete in his mind.

“Your car’s nicer than mine,” Stan said sullenly, looking up. “Well, I don’t really have one anymore.”

Green eyes skid to the side. Today they were more or less of an acid green in the glittering sunlight. Sometimes they were leafy, sometimes basil. Kyle’s eyes were more of a peppy shamrock color. Stan noticed them before he sat down in Craig’s car.

They looked forward at the road while Craig still had one hand on the steering wheel. It was tough. Coming up with something to say. Neither one of them usually communicated unless they were working toward a similar goal. Stan’s pupils shift to the window left of him again.

He was expecting for Craig to say something judgmental about him burning down his possessions. Instead, he chose to stay quiet. Which would be fitting, if Stan would think about it. Craig usually kept to himself, unless he had a strong opinion. At this point, silence would be more welcomed than being called stupid.

“So, what’s goin’ on with you and Tweek?” asked the jock.

Facebook was put on hold, he peered up.  

“I’m not trying to get in you guys’ faces about it or anything, but hear me out,” Stan brought his drink to his lap and the subject more firmly to his attention. “The whole school’s been talking about it. I think it’s stupid what everyone says, but it doesn’t look right either.”

Craig made no sound after that. The silence he retreated into stretched even further. His image was hardly a thing that he was concerned about. At least, from the outside, he has shown that. Stan said that it didn’t look right.  Now, leaving the boy in the yellow puffball hat to stew in his thoughts. He knew why, he asked anyway.

“What doesn’t look right?”

The car door closed behind Stan when he climbed out of it.

“All of it,” he answered. “Well, most…”

After twisting his key and the interior stopped glowing, Craig looked down. To shout and act defensive about it, would make him look worse. Even if Craig had a reputation of not caring what other people said, he still felt compelled to tell someone his side of the story. It shouldn’t be Stan, he wasn’t going to tell him. There’d be nothing he could do about it.

The pair gathered their stuff and unloaded in the living room. The house was empty with just the two of them, which didn’t bother Stan at all. Both sat in the living room at separate chairs while Stan did his homework. Craig was seated at an armchair and Stan was at the far end of a couch. Out of respect, Stan didn’t ask.

Besides the current assignment, both haven’t mentioned another word about that morning since then, and for good measure, Craig remains collected as he scrolled through his phone after he highlighted the essentials of the assignment. He walked Stan to his door, once they were done.

“Thanks, dude,” the noiret in the beanie said.  “I know we don’t really talk much, but this really helps a lot.”

Craig gripped his front door, expressionless.  “Sure.”

A friendly wave and Stan turned around to meet Kyle, who was parked by the mailbox.

As the other boy backed down on one step, Craig parted his lips. For, what he was about to admit, he struggled for a bit.

 

* * *

 

“He stabbed me with a fork,” Craig conceded. He found himself saying that, suppressing agitation. “I reacted and I hit him.  I lost control of my emotions and I freaked out.”

It almost felt like Craig was remorseful for what he just said. The taller boy glanced to one side, expected to be insulted or at least a grimace from Stan. When his classmate turned around, surprisingly, he didn’t have much of a look of shock on his face.

The righteous anger didn’t come to nip Craig in the ass, or to bite off his head as he would predict. Instead, Stan was sanguine, contemplative. No lashing out for now. So badly, Craig needed someone to vent this to. Clyde had been nowhere in sight recently and he had been keeping it in all day.

“I won’t judge you,” Stan said quietly, after taking some time to respond. “That’s Jesus’ job, and maybe Chuck Norris’...”

“Thanks.”

“But.” Stan regarded him with a serious stare. “You guys shouldn’t be stabbing and hitting each other. What started the fight, anyway?”

The noiret in the blue hat worked his jaw to say something and then froze again. Communication was still bad for him. Kyle was waiting for Stan in his car and he beeped his horn, which caught both of the males’ attention.  Having Stan over was just a bad idea. Though, he’s discussed it with Tweek and his boyfriend said it was okay, Craig has told himself that he could potentially be digging himself into a deeper hole just by doing whatever he was doing. When their English teacher brought up that it would be Stan that he’d be tutoring, he reacted faster than he wanted. Maybe there was some attraction there. It was becoming even harder for him to hide it. 

“You know what?” the other spoke again. “Don’t worry about it. You can be angry and sad, that’s completely part of being a human being.”

In his innermost irritated thoughts, Craig wanted to say duh. Though, he would let that sink in for a bit. Life was beginning to lose some of its charm for him to be snarky. Craig would save the energy for later.

Kyle cleared his voice. “Stan.”

His front car door was partially open and the vehicle was running behind him. Now standing by the front lawn with his arms crossed, the Jew shot a dirty look at Craig, still not completely over the rumors. The chullo wearing teen waited for a response from Stan and he began walking to his best friend.

“He’s got a little brother to take care of. We’ll talk later about this tomorrow if you’re comfortable with it.”

There would be no talking. The other noiret walked away again to his friend’s car. The last sentence was strangely comforting to Craig. If the school is angry like Stan said, then he would be much too tired to clear his name. Blinking away pensive thoughts, Craig closed the door behind him and walked to grab his shoes.

 

* * *

 

Stan fell on his mattress when he returned home. Eyes pressed shut and arms pushed up to his head, he hardly bothered to switch on the lamp near his bedside as he entered another cycle of daydreaming. For a short while, he kept himself preoccupied with the images of what a perfect life would be like, floating in his head. How things would be if people didn’t know him. A new name, starting somewhere brand new. Instead of wanting to die.

Depending on that, being reborn in any time era wouldn’t make a difference to him. Stan sat up on his legs and folded them inward, fingers lightly grazing through his fringe. With a phone in his other hand, he waited for Kyle and Kenny’s reply. If, they were to meet up sometime later that day. It seemed like they were incredibly busy with their younger siblings.

 

**Stan Marsh**

February 4 at 4:14 PM

new pic. what do you guys think? 

31 Comments 83 Shares

There would be many compliments on Stan’s Facebook feed that he read when he opened the particular app. Subtle dismay on his face when he scrolled down to read more of his compliments from different classmates and a few people that he’s met only once.

Stan was raising his shirt in front of his bathroom mirror with his teeth. Just a little tease, nothing more exceeding that. Of course, he’s complained more than a few times that he would never stoop so low to be one of those ‘douchebags’ that showed off their assets; but Wendy, the breakup, he had to show her a little bit what she was missing. Even if she barely logged on. Since she wasn’t talking to him, on a social media platform, it’s completely fine. It wouldn’t be admitted aloud, but Stan has also been craving more than ever. His smug smile fell when he enlarged the next picture of himself that had many compliments, now squinting at a comment his childhood rival said.

 

 **Craig Tucker** That’s a filter.

1 min ago

 

A certain comment from his classmate caught his eye. So many years knowing him, the guy rarely had anything nice to say.

 

 **Stan Marsh** you know it’s pretty ridiculous how jealous you’re being right now.

3 secs ago

 

An angry-filled rant was executed after that sentence. Those words ought to set him straight. So, he thought. Apart from giving Craig a piece of his mind and then forgetting later on, Stan’s attention and energy would be geared elsewhere. Dark clouds floating over his head again, he obstinately thought about his ex-girlfriend Wendy Testaburger. Her kind smile, and what she was doing at the moment.

All the photos of Wendy have been entirely wiped out from Stan’s device since the last Sunday. Not seeing her face anymore on his lock screen somewhat made Stan feel at ease, liberated. That, he could be sure with himself again. She didn’t have any power over him anymore.

He threw his legs at the edge of the bed, back facing the door of his room. Unfortunately for him, boredom has given his hand a mind of its own. Skimming through the apps on his phone, Stan opted for a porn app. Craning his neck up, he glared at himself. Playing with himself had been a nasty habit to kick.

 _What the fuck are you doing? You said no more after this,_ he admonished in his skull. _Turn it off._

The inner voices that rebuke it. Yet… his fingers ignored him and drifted further down, his thumb brought itself to a thumbnail of a girl being choked. Stan pulled his cock out of the hole of his boxers.

It was the most degrading clip that he’s ever seen. Very careful to leave it in a low volume, Stan worked himself in his palm, pumping in a moderate speed. The woman rendered helpless gave him mixed feelings. As the video continued, Stan found himself concentrating more on the attractive male pulling her hair.

No girl with him would ever. Wendy had been rough, but Stan knew it would be much different with another male. His cock pulsated his clenched hand. A line of precum leaked from it when he's filled with more forbidden thoughts of himself lying face down with a male figure destroying him. To meet someone as powerful as the guy in the video and get away with it in real life, Stan would say that his chances would be very slim, or never. The man was barbaric, merciless; virile. He had all the animalistic traits that he loved.

Stan leaned forward and gasped softly. As a cold tremor ran down his spine, he finished in his hand. There was a disappointed look on his face after he wiped himself with a pair of boxers from the floor and hid it in the laundry hamper.

The door of his room slammed open. In a metallic pair of speedos, Randy made his presence be known with his hand gripping the doorknob and a big smile that took over his entire feature. The dark hair on his chest and legs clung to his wet skin.

In a Slayer shirt and flannel pants after showering, Stan glared, pulling his comic book down from his face.

“Son!” his father called out to him. “Ooh ooh, son! You gotta check this out!”

“What, dad?” Stan flipped a page, not facing him.

The hairy middle-aged man floundered ridiculously by the door. “Come on! You gotta check this out! You gotta right now!”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, you don’t! Come on! Hurry up, Stanley! Your sister’s waiting for you!”

 

* * *

 

 

Revealing his bright and shiny white teeth, Randy grinned with an open mouth, starting the jets on the Jacuzzi behind the kitchen’s sliding glass door. The mustached man had a bright towel over his shoulders and stepped out of his custom initial stitched spa slippers, ready to sink in. His wife Sharon crossed her arms beside their daughter and son. Stan kept his face blank while Shelly placed her hands on her hips.

“You got us a hot tub again.” Sharon covered her mouth with both hands. “Randy, how can we afford this?”

“That’s not important, honey. Come check out the features with me. It’s got a whirlpool jet with sixteen different settings, self-cleaning technology, and changing LED lights. Oh! And you know what else?”

Stan and Shelly exchanged looks. The female made an equal dismayed frown at her younger brother and then glared back at the wood-paneled tub. Their dad explained more of the gaudy components to it.

“I guess nobody else is gonna say anything about the weather?” Stan questioned, Jack Skellington mug in hand. “Screw it. I’m gonna head to bed, goodnight.”

"You guys… took a perfectly good nap away from me,” seethed Shelly, shivering in her fuzzy pink slippers. “I was dreaming about my Kevin! This sucks!”

Just like her brother, the brunette turned around and is obscured by the darkness of the kitchen. Instead of climbing upstairs to her room, she gaits toward the couch to watch a new episode of a reality show she recorded.

 _“Ow._ Hot, hot, hot. _”_ With a neck pillow on, Randy sank further into the tub and sighed. Sighing _. “Ah..._ Wanna take a dip, babe?”

“Oh, Randy.” Sharon cupped her hands together, giggling.

 

* * *

 

A hand with slender fingers reached out to straighten the sheet of music that was resting on an upright piano.

Downcast and dreamy gaze, Tweek pulled his chair up to the instrument. Tilting a dainty chin up, he began. Nocturne in E-flat major, by Frederic Chopin. Slow precision and at an incredibly a careful pace, he breathed out playing the keys slowly.

 5:25 am. Tuesday barely began. All halls in the school were gray, except for a few lights spilled from some rooms. A majority of the students haven’t entered yet and the building would be locked, within an exception for a few obedient ones that had access to it.

Two chances were already executed from a clumsy finger sliding to the D key. Subtle frown on his soft face, Tweek began the song again. He nodded his head gently to get a feel of it, as the notes hung invisibly around him. His Band-Aid covered fingers slipped again and he cursed at his mistake once more.

 “Shit.”

_Why am I always messing everything up?_

Craig would still be home sleeping. Practice and origami were the only things that relaxed him recently. For this moment, it had been slightly irritating. The young boy sighed softly again. Another slip.

Balled fists slammed on the white keys.

“Yikes.” A male’s voice came above the shadow figure that stretched over the floor of the room. The light in the art hall has been turned on. “That’s one mood I don’t want to mess with.  I’ll come back later if you’d like.”

Looking up from his arms with his hands clasped, Tweek stared at the hair-flip boy Pete, who stood by the light switch. Suddenly self-conscious, Tweek flushed, grabbing his coffee from the top of the piano. Shifting in his spot, he neatened the invisible wrinkles of his shirt and gulped, fidgeting at the sharp end of his shirt collar. He chided in his head to stop shaking.

“Tweek, you in there?” called another male voice.

Pete gasped. “Dude, what happened to your face?”

“Oh… my gawd,” a girl’s voice intruded. 

Henrietta Biggle was the next to appear by the doorway of the room. She had her hands on her face, painted eyebrows creased. Her eyes grew large underneath her heavily mascaraed lashes. Graceful for her heavy appearance, she looked like she floating over the ground in the long and dark dress she wore.

Gently nudging Michael and Pete aside, she walked toward Tweek for a closer examination. Brokenhearted, she clenched her teeth, backing away after holding his face in her pale hands. At that moment, Tweek wouldn’t lift his head.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him.” The second syllable was strong, she hissed. “He’s so freakin’ dead! That piece of shit! If he does one thing as lay another finger on you like that, I’ll tear his balls off!”

Pete flipped his hair.

Michael stepped forward to speak. “Some people want to get hit and tossed around when they get fucked. From what I heard, that mark wasn’t from your consent. There's no fucking way I'm believing you're into this shit. This isn't the way to go, there’s nothing romantic or kinky about this shit.”

“It—it’s okay.” Tweek retreated to his bashful state and sat back down. “Thanks for the help, you guys. You don’t really have to, Hen. I don’t really need any.” 

“Dude, that’s such bullshit,” Pete snapped, unable to control his anger. “Since, when is hitting ever okay? Look at you, look at your face… Look what he did to you.”

“I stabbed him with a fork first.” The addled blond looked down.

 “Good, fuck him.” Michael stepped inside the room more. “He’ll keep pushing you around if you stay. I’m glad you stood up for yourself. It’s about fucking time.”

“No, shut up!” Tweek had his hands over his ears. “I don’t wanna hear it! You don’t know anything about me and Craig!” 

The goths gaped at the boy’s reaction.

Tweek softened his pitch, eyes swollen, and voice tired. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“We — we just need more time to think…that’s all.”

“How much time?”

“Sorry, I just thought… well, we did…” Pete took a step back as his friends head out to the hall. “…okay, then.”

“Not you,” the boy sniffed before the red goth could make it to the door, “you can stay.”

 

* * *

 

“And then I was like no way, it’s not really Catsup it’s Ketchup, and she was like, Porsche, it’s totally Catsup. And I was like, shut up! Can you really believe that there are different ways of spelling that? Can you believe it? I think Ketchup is spelled K-e-c…”

In a pink fur-lined jacket, a raven-haired girl was talking to Stan while he was leaning against a chain linked fence.

This would be day nine of his breakup with Wendy. In the very beginning, Stan’s heart felt heavy for that particular time. What perplexed him even more, was that the pain that the dull ache in his heart had been reduced to a sick numbness and then borderline acceptance of his loss at a short time period of time. There would only be one way to find out if he runs into Wendy again; if Stan’s truly over her. He still didn’t want to let her go.

Yet, elsewhere in Stan’s mind, his innermost secret thoughts were manifesting again. For the sake of him, at the schoolyard, of all places; while a nice girl was standing right in front of him, he was lost in orbit with his perverted thoughts.

 _Man, she must’ve sucked a lot of cocks,_ Stan pondered. His focus panned over to Porsche’s lips while she meandered about her day at work. _Ah, you’ve seen it before. It doesn’t look that hard. I just wanna suck cock. Big cocks. Medium cocks... I just really want a huge cock._  

The sentences that float in his head were not shy. Stan had fancied the male anatomy for quite some time. Oftentimes, feeling guilty later, and usually really soon he'd tried to repent for it in prayer.

“You know, you’re really cute when you act like you don’t care sometimes. Omigod! I love beanie boys and your muscles,” Porsche rambled on. “You know what I really think is hot? Tattoos! Do you have any tattoos yet? I was thinking about getting a butterfly somewhere. I wanna do small ones by my ankle or maybe get one on my lower back.”

Craig was walking over to him and he had just as much of a look of regret on his face when he brought himself near Porsche. Textbooks gathered in one arm, he gave a look to Stan, whose fingers were curled in the metal by him. The boy shifted uncomfortably.

“Uhm… I’m gonna have to cut this short.” Stan rubbed his neck, his focus veered up at the taller boy. “Guy stuff.”

Saved, he didn’t have to be there anymore. Porsche didn’t mind at all. She leaped up and gave Stan a hug. “All right! Well, it’s been fun, Stan! See you later, cutie! It’s nice talking to you again! Mwuah!”

“See ya.” Stan waved.

“You smell now,” Craig said flatly as she left.

Stan narrowed his eyes at the choice of words that flew from his mouth. Although the sneer was very typical and very Craig. Stan thought, ‘poor guy’. Craig still had an abhorrence around the opposite sex. The girl was wearing a blood-orange vanilla body spray. It rubbed off on Stan, which, he thought was okay. Porsche mentioned her scent earlier when he asked.

“Yeah, good,” joked the jock. “So, what’s the lesson plan his time? ‘Cause, if you’re gonna screw me over I’d rather know right away, so I can still save my grades.”

The other noiret glared as they turned away from the fence, Stan pulled his hand away from it.

“Plus, PSAT’s comin’ soon,” he looked up at Craig’s shoulder. “My everything is kinda on the line right now and I’m putting my stuff in your hands. You don’t have to be a dick every time you see me in public.” 

“Insinuating that I have a crush on you, I’d say your IQ just shot down by a negative one-hundred,” the teen beside him bit back as they walked to his car.

The boy in the beanie stuck his tongue out immaturely and made faces when the other teenager would attempt to bring him down a peg from his nonsense.

“Just because I’m gay, doesn’t mean I like everything with a dick, Stan,” Craig gibed. “I have standards. This has got nothing to do with how I treat you in ‘public’.”

“I don’t know. I’d say you’re half-lying and you actually find me pretty attractive.”

Craig didn’t dignify that with a quick response. With regret, he watched the mouth in front of him quirk into a small grin.

There was a chilling substance to Stan’s smirk that he couldn’t identify. The uncomfortable silence was unnerving and his point of view was more than one-dimensional. Both teenagers had horrible tendencies to read into things too much, but in this case, Craig knew Stan’s secret. Genuine flirting was detected. Even if the flirting would be nothing, he is more suspicious towards it now. 

 “Just shut up and let me take control of it,” Craig remarked, forcing himself not to blush. “Besides knowing your basic ABC’s and not spacing out like an idiot, I’d your chances of flunking with me is pretty fucking slim.”

 Craig felt around his jacket and unzipped his backpack. Blunt realization hits him. he noticed that he left his phone in the yearbook room. His eyelids drooped at the thought of walking back there.

 “Gee, you think so?” Stan deadpanned, still focused on the topic at hand.

 “Yeah…” The noiret in the blue hat mustered a reply. “Prick.”

 “Hey, don’t call me a prick, you fucking douchebag!”

 Craig’s smile was as brief as him undoing the locks with the turn of a key.

“Shit, I’ll be right back. Don’t steal anything.”

“Actually, you’re the one that steals from me. Remember last—”

The door closed again and Craig stuffed his hands in his coat pockets before taking them out and jogging over to the school building. Stan pulled his phone from his back pocket and began texting Kyle, placing an earbud on. He breathed out vapor and glared at the lack of response from his best friend, setting the phone in his lap.

“Goddammit.”

 

* * *

 

Stan gnawed on the end of his student ID card, letting it hang it his mouth, preoccupied with the memories of last autumn. The plastic rectangle attached to his lanyard dropped on his chest while he was slumped on the seat, head tilted boredly at the ceiling.

After the song ended on his playlist, the somber one rolled his gaze up to the window, seeing Craig marching toward the vehicle. He climbed in next to Stan and slammed the door. Not choosing to wear a coat that day was a mistake. The frosty air made Stan feel nippy and uncomfortable.

“Hey, I was beginning to think you died over there.” Stan pulled his earbuds off. “What happened? You’ve been in there for almost a half an hour.”

He chewed his lip averted before letting go with his teeth and discovering a trail of blood dripping from Craig’s knuckles.

Stan sat up. “Oh, what the hell? Did you get into a fight just now?”

A migraine was already growing in his head from envisioning what it could do to his reputation if he were less depressed and cared about it.

“No.”

 _Unbelievable,_ he complained inwardly. “Craig.”

Hands visibly shaking, Craig pulled the belt over his chest and tried to concentrate while the other boy pulled his clean wrist away from the steering wheel. There had been some leftover will to live. Stan wasn’t going to jeopardize his life yet. Craig would be the last person he’d want to see before he ended himself.

Meanwhile, Craig’s pulse quickened from the simple touch. Unnerving electrical shocks tingled through him. Because that was the last thing that he needs, more unwanted physical contact. It seemed like whenever there was something that involved Stan, he was the one getting hurt. Their eyes met again after he lowered his wrist to his lap, fingers loosely gripping the keys.

“Relax for a bit. I can drive for you,” said Stan. “I’ll get you home and I’ll call Kyle so he can come and get me. We can do this some other time, okay?”

Like approaching a cat in the tree, Stan didn’t want to be met with claws. The stoical noiret had just as much of a tendency to be noisily cruel just like any stray animal Stan could come up with his head. Only they were cuddly, and Craig was… not so much. In a sense, it’d be weird to think of him that way.

A noise brought Stan out of his daydream haze when Craig was pounding the steering wheel with his fist.

“Dude, don’t fuck your stuff up.” He lifted a hand cautiously after pulling his lanyard over his head and letting it hang from his back pocket.  

Stan was expecting Craig to move so he could take control, but instead, he had his face hidden with his arms curled around his head. Shortness of breath was apparent while Craig slumped forward from in his seat. Stan blocked the door respectively so their classmates wouldn’t see him cry.

“Do you need to be alone?"

Craig shook his head no, which was a reaction Stan didn’t expect. Right there, Stan meditated and estimated what he should do next in his spot. This wasn’t a ball that whacked Craig dead on the head, something in that building has truly disturbed him. Seatbelt disconnected in his hand, Craig got up and lets Stan climb toward the steering wheel. They reached a wordless agreement on things and adjusted in their spots.

 

* * *

 

“How is everything now?” Stan asked.

The drive to the Tucker’s household was a short and quiet one. Craig had his arms folded over his chest when he watched the other cars go by with a mixture of the rain and snowdrops blotting the window. The climate was almost as morose as he felt. It drizzled on their way there. A trickle here or there and the wind was heavy. Nothing strange of the sorts. It was Colorado, after all. Sometimes it snowed until March.

When the car rolled to the detached garage, Stan was out of it as quickly as he parked. The two didn’t bother to divide when Craig got out of the car. Gesturing with one hand, he told Stan to bring his things and follow him over to his front door. The text for Kyle could wait for a bit, that’s what the noiret in the beanie decided.

“I can still help you with your homework,” Craig said, pressed against the door.

“You sure? You should put on a game and play real quick, or lay down or something. I’ll still be around tomorrow.”

“It’s just English class.” The key was already inside the doorknob and he twisted it. “Tweek gets grumpy when I’m not with the usual gang. He could use a lesson.”

Stan’s eyes fell from the sky and he wiped snow from his damp shoulders. He looked up from his layered fringe when he stepped indoors, feeling the tickle of the heat surround him. Craig was holding his books in his arms and halted when he reached the living room. His sister Tricia was sitting on the couch with a girl her age. Her Siamese kitten mewed and nuzzled the other kid’s hand with its head, while an adult cat rested by Tricia’s stockinged foot.

“Sounds real mature,” Stan said dryly.  

Craig faced him from a few steps away. “Let’s go upstairs.”

 

* * *

 

The awkward glances never faded away. In fact, it’s gotten weirder since middle school. Each noticed. Neither one could pinpoint how it turned into that over the years. Craig finished washing the blood from his hand on the bathroom while Stan stood by the entrance. It was his favorite coat. A NASA bomber with an American patch at the right shoulder side. From a closet in the hallway, Craig pulled out a stain remover spray bottle from it.

“Well, it looks like you’re takin’ your sweet time over there. I should get moving.” Stan popped an unwrapped candy in his mouth. 

In a facade that might as well be a shrug, Craig replied, looking straight at Stan.

“It’s a three-hundred-dollar jacket. I only brought you here to see all the stuff I have that you don’t. I need to take my sister to a book signing in an hour. You’re free to go anytime if you want.”

Ignoring that statement would be the best Stan could do. He rolled his eyes and then glared at his phone.

On Wendy’s profile she had changed her relationship status to ‘In a Relationship’ on Facebook, and just as Kyle warned, Stan would be in for a surprise to see who Heidi was dating: his long-time girlfriend, now permanent ex, Wendy Testaburger.

Touching his bangs lightly, Stan lets a laugh slip from his lips. An ironic one. Craig finished washing his jacket sleeve in the sink and looked over at him.

“You know, it’s really funny. When you think you’re destined to be with this person all your life… and they turn out to be wrong for you all along.”  Stan sounded jaded.

Craig put his pilot coat in a hanger at a door and had the other noiret follow him to his bedroom. He wanted to give advice but kept it to himself. In his bedroom with Stan following behind, he switched on the lights to reveal the green wallpaper and purple floor, then sat at the edge of the bed.

“Whoa, don’t think I’ve been in here since we chased that bunny.” Stan looked around. “What grade were we in? Was it seventh, eighth?”

A binder was pulled out from Craig’s desk and he pulled out a pen. “Eighth.”

“So,” The bed shook slightly when Stan sat down with his backpack, “you gonna tell me what the hell happened back there?”

Flipping through the ringed binder. “I saw Tweek making out with that pizza-faced kid from the art building.  It’s not a big deal. I just thought I’d be less hurt about it.”

“Wait a minute.” Stan placed his phone down. After an hour of being lost, to his relief, the other boy finally opened up to him.  “That is a big deal, Craig. What happened after that?”

“We scuffled and I dog-walked him by the auditorium. I almost made him eat the cement, but Tweek kept reminding me how much of a piece of shit I am, so I left. Wasn’t a good look for me.”

Eyes lowered at picturing a mental image. Around the time Craig paused, Stan picked at the loose string at his ripped jeans. He hardly found himself as big of a risk-taker in fashion, but he now distracted himself for a bit, looking down at the black tights beneath it.

“Did you get suspended, detention?”

“There weren’t any teachers around. I got away with it.”

Stan licked his lips. “You should probably not do that again.”

“…yeah.”

The energy between them took a different change. Craig left his response open-ended. Sitting up, Stan’s focus lingered to his mouth. Chewing the corner of his lip had become a bad habit for himself. He’d done just that, his blue irises swaying up to Craig’s green ones.

Now, he found him inching closer to him. “I mean, if you think about it, it’s just kissing...”

Alone together again, just like the day in the fitness center. If any third-party were to bust in, the person would say that they looked like two idiots. Logic continued evaporating into thin air over them. Equally in a trance, Craig lowered his eyes. His sense of awareness diminished. Their breaths mingled. Just a few centimeters apart. The contact was scary, it intrigued him.

An unstoppable crimson bled through his cheeks when he found that their hands were touching. Which, would collectively lead to conflict if they were younger. The little touches. He tried not to breathe from his mouth when Stan was close. His pupils were dark when he glanced down.  

“We should get back to our assignment…” Stan spoke against his lips.

“Then move your stupid face, then.”

“Move yours first.”

Calm. Craig’s expression was calm, but the voices were loud between his ears. The desire to be rational has left him the minute they locked eyes like utter morons again. This time, up close, and they angled their faces.  It wasn’t about what’s wrong or was right anymore. Craig knew what he wanted then and there and he would be willing to be there for the taking.

The dreaded palpitations were strong, and they got worse in Craig’s chest. The knot in his throat tightened.

Ba-dump. _Do it._

Ba-dump. _Kiss me, you pussy._

_Put your mouth on mines. Let me have you, you jerk!_

Time was too damn slow. Snail’s pace was hardly Stan’s style, Craig knew this, and now he hated that he was taking so long. The offer was right there. A revenge kiss for Tweek. If he isn’t to do anything about it, he is going to shove him away. But a few seconds happened and Craig had already lost interest. He reared back, he really tried to. Before the next inhale, Stan swooped in and crushed his lips against his.

An electric surge crawled up Craig’s veins. The boy in the chullo parted his lips as the other teen possessed his mouth with his. It was urgent. Deliberate, passionate, and warm. There was teeth. They clicked, but neither one seemed to care. Stan was starving and his mouth was on Craig’s, ravishing his the most. Their tongues sought and rolled against one another’s while their hands groped different spots. It was enough for Craig to detect the Jolly Rancher the other boy had been sucking on earlier.

Some time was taken for them to collect air. Craig brought his face up with intent to think about his action, which backfired when the other boy pulled him in. The next kiss was deeper and Stan sucked on his tongue. While his hands skim over Craig’s back, he fisted his shirt, he could taste the faintness of peppermint Chapstick from his lips.

Craig was rougher and he took over, circling his arms around his waist. Fingers curled over Craig’s biceps, Stan raised his knee while one foot was propped on the bed, the other on the floor. His hands return to the sides of his classmate’s face. Each a complete wreck, they began another round of kissing. Around the time they lost count, Stan pushed Craig back slightly. His hand was gently placed on his shoulder.

“No – no, no. Wait,” Stan murmured in light-headed confusion. “This is wrong.”

They were panting into each others’ mouths now. “What’s is?”

Predictable bastard. Craig knew it was coming. He almost picked at his ear with his finger like a child. Sure, he could play stupid for a bit. Tweek had done him dirty. Two could play at that game. Stan brought his books and shoved the rest of his things in his backpack. He zipped it up loudly and pulled the straps over his shoulders.

“All of this.” Stan’s gestured the air with his hands. “I’m not gay.”

“And so, you’re leaving now, because you feel awkward after kissing me. First.” Craig concluded instead of asking Stan why he did it. With an extended arm, he handed Stan the phone he was searching for. “If I’m not mistaken… I’d say you were really into it.”

The jock in the beanie covered his mouth.

“Your tongue was doing all sorts of stuff in my mouth,” Craig added. “I’d say that’s pretty gay.”

“So? You’re the first one, sue me,” Stan lied. “Let’s forget this ever happened. I didn’t kiss you, I was never at your house, we never did anything. I’m callin’ Kyle, session’s off. I’m callin’ it off.”

More steps toward the door from Stan. Craig blurted before he grabbed the knob.

“You’re bi-curious.”

Stan’s eyes enlarged. Now, spinning revealing a hate-filled glare at what Craig just summarized. All too familiar sounding, he could just hit him.

“What – where did you hear that? Who the fuck told you that?”

“You did. While we were at church. You told Father you’re bi-curious, shitstain.”

“When I was alone at the booth? Oh my god, you were listening in on me?” A dim flame flickered in Stan’s pupils. “You were spying on me.”

Things were happening a bit too fast again. Denial coursed hotly through Stan’s veins. After just shooting from zero to one-hundred with the heavy tension that floated in between them. He knew now that his classmate couldn’t be trusted. In that instant, Stan was sorry that he ever co-existed with Craig at all. Craig Tucker was still as big of a jerk as ever. There was nothing redeemable about his qualities, Stan chided that inside. Craig was just…

“Ah, great. So not only are you an asshole, but you’re a stalker too.”

Craig’s eyes went hooded at the dramatic pace back and forth.

“Oh my god,” Stan repeated. “Kyle was right. He was fucking right. The only reason you brought me here was so you can make me more miserable. You really do get off on it. You’re fucking sick.”

“And I’m perfectly fine with that,” stated the other noiret, closing his binder. “At least, I didn’t kiss Kenny.”

“Ken’s got nothin’ to do with this. Don’t you dare drag him into this.”

“It’s my house. I can bring in whoever the fuck I want!” Craig argued, raising his voice. “At least, I don’t make out with losers for the fun of it. At least, I know who the fuck I am.”

“A guy named Dick?”

“No, I’m Craig.”

Stan’s face fell in his hand.

“I’m not a straight passing sack of shit that cares about what a bunch of guys from high school thinks. Not like the bitchass airhead that’s standing in front of me.”

The last words drawn from Craig’s mouth cemented Stan’s change of heart. He could just tackle him right there. The hot-headed teen gnashed his teeth before turning to raise his middle finger at his classmate, the motion was received in return.

“Fuck you.”

“When?”

Scarlet bled through Stan’s winter pale cheeks. “Dude, did you just — “

His ears burned. Muddled and disorientated again, that wasn’t the reply he was expected to get back. Not from Craig, or any guy in town for any reason. The monosyllabic comeback baffled him, it caught him off-guard. Never had he ever considered him an option, they had to stop.

“Look.” Stan narrowed his eyes dangerously. “I don’t have to figure this out now, or ever in this town, and I sure as hell that I don’t owe you a damn explanation for it. I think I need to stay the hell away from you for a while and you do the same for me. Knowing how you operate, I’d say you’d use this against me later.”

“Maybe.” Craig began shuffling his baseball cards, undeterred. “I just might.”

“Go to hell!”

Stan slammed the door. Before it closed, Craig picked up his pencil holder in his other hand and threw it at the boy. He missed. The assorted writing utensils scattered to the ground after it noisily clashed against the wood. Feeling somewhat accomplished after Stan’s disappearance, Craig exhaled slowly. He fell back on his mattress again with a recollection of Stan’s ‘Fuck You’. His simper died slowly, upon realizing what he said back to him.

_When?_

“Oh God no!”

Tricia cleared her throat by the door panel. Behind her, Karen McCormick had her light blue backpack on. She was floral wearing rain boots, despite the heavy coldness outside. Craig walked to his closet and pulled on another jacket.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. I actually enjoyed writing this one. Thanks for your patience. xx 🌹🤭
> 
>  **Edit:** Nvm. It was McDonald's. If anyone caught that horrible edit. 😳


	10. Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Stan the video star._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Just a chapter of Stan and Craig being gross. Some fetish stuff sprinkled in and degrading. (If you guys are wondering if it will detract from the plot, it won't.) More notes down below.

Registrations for newer classes would be put on hold for Stan and Craig. College sports was something to get used to, but Stan adapted to the new rules quickly. Now that springtime was almost over, he and his friends had more time to hang out and rebuild their stamina from the grueling semesters. That meant parties, being cozy with significant others if they had one, and getting drunk; if that was even allowed for Stan, which was not, because he wanted to stay sober and his boyfriend wanted him to be his best as well.

The Play'd app, already becoming a thing of the past within minutes of its content being purged, was already a large step up for them. For the most part, all things were going pretty well; even though, it's only been one day.  They would have time to readjust and go on dates again, eat out when they had money, and hang out with friends. The weather, however, wasn't all the way on their side.

Warmth and dampness all around, heavy rainfall poured violently from soot-colored clouds in the wide tolopea sky. The wind moaned, bending the trees that were downtown crooked. Birds were nowhere near in sight.Near the road Craig and Clyde were in, water overflowed business rooftops and oversaturated leaves that clung to their branches. After his failed attempt to remember what happened with Tweek in the past, Craig gave up and decided that he needed to put that behind to focus on the rest of his day. Things went by normally well. Nothing special or tragic happened since the chain of events that happened at the restaurant. In fact, everything was simple for Craig. He clocked in at work, he ate his lunch and then clocked out.  

Traffic was slow but busy in the downtown area. A man ran through the crosswalk when the green arrow flashed. People crowd in booths near a bus stop. Like a camera flashing, a bright light appeared overhead with a low rumble. Another dramatic thunderbolt ripped through the air behind a silhouette of skyscrapers and phone lines.

Standing outdoors accompanying Craig, Clyde took a picture of nature’s ruckus from his phone as his friend talked to a mechanic inside of a Jiffy Lube. The air surrounding the brunet was humid and made the fair hairs on his arm stand up. With a hoodie on that he pulled from his trunk, Clyde stood by the public building’s open garage.

Craig pushed his credit card inside of his leather wallet and strode over to Clyde. Hand inside one pocket, he lifted his eyes up to the sky as well, standing next to his friend. He opened up his Instagram Live and panned the camera’s lens to the downpour in front of him.

“Looks pretty bad over here too.” Stan’s voice came in softly from the phone Craig held. Hand compulsively running over his black bangs. The blue-eyed boy traced his fingertips over his mouth. “I was thinking about our first kiss again.”

A code red Mountain Dew Clyde’s hand, he uncapped it after giving Stan a wave. Some soda spilled in his mouth when he took a long swig. Now with his own phone next to his ear, Clyde moved away, speaking to a female companion he met at a sports event. Clyde grinned at his reflection in the rainy window. By there, he would begin his magic while some footsteps were gained away from his best friend Craig. Clyde chuckled as he resumed his flirty conversation with the girl.  

“God, it was awful. There was so much teeth,” Stan recalled, laughing, “you were such a jerk.”

“I guess that makes the two of us then, because I think you made my lip bleed," said Craig. 

“We didn’t speak for a while after that. Well, we did, but there wasn't much of a choice. I think you blocked me on all your apps. Or, was it me. Did I block you?”

“I blocked you.”

“Ugh, dick.”

No reaction toward Stan’s raspberry. “You suck big ones, yes, you do.”  

“Just yours.”

Kenny smirked at Stan. Seated on the floor by his feet, he revealed a freckled grin that said ‘look at my creation’. Stan’s shameless behavior was is an achievement well-taught. The quarterback didn’t hide it anymore, but it could be that he always had that quality deep inside him. It was a big turnaround. Kenny climbed beside Stan and perched his chin over his shoulder to get a clearer view of what he was doing, then waved at Craig through the screen. Craig waved back.

“It’s getting dark soon. When you gonna come and get me?”

“In about twenty minutes.” Craig estimated, moving his eyes away from digital numbers on his screen.  

“Cool.” The focus from the other camera lens shifted away from the complexion of the blue-eyed boy. “I’m still at Cartman’s, we’re just playing CoD.”

“Multiplayer?”

“Of course.”

Craig looked behind his boyfriend’s shoulder. There was an assortment of posters and thumbtacks behind Stan’s shoulder. Papers and photographs littered on a bulletin board behind Stan in Cartman’s dorm room.

From the look of things, that hasn’t really changed much with the dorm room owner. The room itself looked like it had been submerged in a blue filter with the flashing tint from the television and light spilling from a nearby lamp. Kenny slipped away from Stan busied himself with the game console in front of him.

Stan gave up his seat for Kyle. The ceiling moved along with his walking.

“I’m gonna take a leak. You alone?”

Craig kept his face blank. Of course, he wasn’t. By that point, it wasn’t really ridiculous. At a younger age, Stan hid his bad side pretty well. In general, words conflict with his actions. With Kenny and Craig, he agreed that he sucked at playing innocent.

All much to a big relief for Craig, Clyde wasn’t by his shoulder anymore. They can’t simply ‘get it on’ like that in a public building. Any other location of them to be lewd in front of the camera would have been fine for Craig. Preferably, in a worn-down warehouse when their other friends were three doors down or behind a large oak tree with the volume turned down really low.  

Body had a mind of its own. That was always Stan’s excuse. He began sliding his shorts down to his waist revealing the v-line below his navel. He pushed the scroll bar on the screen of his phone for a closeup. His dick hung from the elastic of his boxers and he gripped himself there.

“I call this _F_ _ontaine de Forniquer,_ ” Stan said in a hushed tone. “I hope nobody’s around. I want you to see everything.”

“Wait, babe. Dial it back a little.”

“What?” Stan tucked himself back in his boxers. “You want me to hold it?”

 “Yeah. Call you back.”

The noiret on the other side gave a pout before hanging up on the chat. Behind Craig, he lets a man approach him. The guy had a ruddy face with a mustache, was built like an ox. The assumingly older and larger male stereotypically wiped the grease off a wrench with a rag. It had been his slender clean-cut partner in a similar polo that did most of the work, but it’d be too insignificant for Craig to address. The smaller guy gave him back his Visa and his keys. Craig’s eyes swooped up from the black oil stains on the ground when he joined his friend.

“So, you’re good to go?” Clyde asked.

“Yeah, it’s fixed.” Hand on the wheel, Craig climbed in his car and turned the key.

The engine rumbled before a bright blue glow took over the dashboard and the radio began to play. The gas meter was still full, he could still get to Stan in one trip. Sticking out his tongue, Clyde clapped his hand against Craig’s before revealing his teeth in a big grin. They bumped fists and Clyde backed from the door.

“All right, then. Nice to know! See ya around, Craig.”

“You too. Thanks for sticking around,” Craig spoke, adjusting his front view mirror, “‘preciate it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dirty rainwater splashed in the highway between Craig’s new tires as his car zoomed past the green sign above a bridge that pointed to Denver. It was almost night. The wheels and headlights were symmetrical over the 3-inch puddles. It stopped raining before Craig reached the parking lot of the college campus. Slightly paranoid at leaving his newly possessed car parked again, Craig sets the alarm before locking it.

With an arm in his, he emerged with Stan from the lettered building after the boy bid his farewell to his usual friends. Stan cupped both sides of Craig’s cheeks and pressed his lips to his before putting his duffel bag away and sliding into the passenger’s seat. All at once, the locks activated with a loud click. Craig slid his thumb through the screen of his phone, having Stan look over his shoulder. A slight frown etched Stan’s face when he took a glimpse at Tweek’s last tweet.

“What’s a bint?”

“Don’t ask.” Craig pulled his phone back. “Well, actually, I can explain. Your friend said some really fucked up shit back then.”

“Oh.” Stan gave an inquisitive stare. “Which one?”

It wouldn’t be a trick question. In fact, Stan already knew the answer to that. The car began moving again after he placed his seatbelt on. Craig looked ahead at the road gripping the steering wheel lightly, while offered his other hand to him.

“Cartman.” Craig took it and held it. “Around eighth-grade he said I was switched at birth. It really screwed with me, so Tweek thought it would be nice if we both get DNA tests behind our parents’ backs.”

“Oh, that sucks. How did that go?"

“We got small jobs at an amusement park and chipped in some of our allowances,” Craig clicked his tongue, “We’ve miscommunicated with our family on several occasions and had our differences, but this particualar issue took the cake. It really freaked us out. It was some us against the world BS. I have a long story for that too, but you asked me where that word originated for me. I'll just say anxiety and bullshit aside, it turns out my parents were mine all along, and surprise surprise, your friend’s just a dick.”

Stan pushed the lollipop stick in a spare grocery bag. “Sounds spectacular.”

“Oh yeah, it was.” Craig's voice was equally dry. “Tweek was concerned because his parents both have brown hair and he was born a blond. The results didn’t say his parents weren't his, but we did find out he was part British.”

"And that's where bint happened." 

“Yep, you can just imagine what went on after that.”

A foggy daydream proceeds in front of the stoplight. The crisp and colorful memory of Tweek began materializing before Craig.  

Tweek snickered in his vision. “Bint!”

Right next to him, Token glared, putting down a green plastic pail, gaining some distance from the blond. Tweek repeated the new word again. Craig snickered beside him. Token was waxing his SUV that day. Craig could remember the smell. Clyde threw his crushed Dixie cup at the basketball hoop and missed.

“Bint!”

Token’s eyebrows drew together. “Dude.”

The three guffawed, all but the wealthy boy of the group.

“That was f-fucking h-hh-hilarious,” chortled Jimmy, joining in.  “Token, you really sh-shouldn’t be such a buhb-b-buh…biin…  buhb-b-buh-buh...”

“Goddammit, take your own asses to White Castle.”

Jimmy finished. “Bint.”

Grabbing his knees, Clyde shook in laughter before pulling himself up, curving his arm around Craig’s shoulder. Middle-finger up in the air, Token closed the front door to his house after climbing up the two brick steps.  

The images blurred from Craig’s mind and his vehicle rolled past the back of the Denver city sign.

Stan did a double-take, looking through the window as Craig released his hand from his and rested over his thigh. He narrowed his eyes once more after looking behind his seat. The green Denver sign grew smaller behind them.

“Babe, you drove past our place and the entire city. Where are you taking me?”

“Dry cleaners.” Craig rubbed Stan’s leg. “I gotta pick up a few things.”

Denver had a number of them. Along with the fact of that, it chafed Stan’s feelings somewhat. His bladder was full. Craig wanted to play a game and he didn’t feel up for it.  

“Oh, you mean the one that’s really far away from the main road?” A nod in reply next to him from Craig. “The one that’s by Todd’s Diner...?”

“Yup.”  

“In the middle of nowhere... the one next to _Dollar General_ , that one?”

Failing horribly at keeping his face straight, Craig didn’t respond.

Extra sulky almost immediately, Stan brought himself up and punched the other teen’s arm. Leftover buildings they’ve gone past fade away from them on the road and very few cars were by them now. Craig stuck his tongue out at Stan before facing the wide load pickup truck in front of him. Stan's fingers slipped away from Craig's. There was some rustling going on beside him. Stan wrestled his seatbelt off and pulled his duffle bag from the car’s floor, zipper loudly being undone.  

“What are you doing?” Craig asked.

“You’ll see.”

Stan was indomitably even-tempered while he was rummaging through the split of the bag. Craig brought both hands on the steering wheel. After Stan found what he was looking for, he pulled himself back to his seat. A little diversion for himself would be made right there. With his fingers coiled around a toy cock, Stan met eyes with Craig’s in the front view mirror, before the other young man shifted his green ones.

“Oh no, not here.”

“Why not? You said I could practice anywhere.” Stan pulled the toy up to his chin. “I know work’s been stressing you out lately and with everything... I’m pretty stressed out too.”  He pressed his lips against the silicone tip of the cock, kissed it, and flicked his tongue against it.  “And besides… we both could use a little entertainment. You don’t have to touch, you can just watch.”

“Can’t really do that while I’m the driving, hon.”

“Okay, you can just listen, then.”

Stan pulled from the window, speaking moments later.  “Babe.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t really need to go to the dry cleaners, did you.”

The question mark didn’t exist in that sentence. Stan bit the corner of his lip. Stan knew how red and vexed Craig could be sometimes. As the tar road turned into a dirt one, Stan took advantage of it. He pulled his mouth over the fake cock, tilts his head back while he leisurely licked it. His tongue doing crazy flicks before the tip spiraled around the head. Stan pushed it inside his oral cavern again, breathing through his nose. Stan hummed while his mouth moved back and forth over it. Equable, but the total opposite in the inside, Craig’s heart nearly froze when he realized that he is being neglected for a worthless toy. As much as Craig liked picking them for Stan, the inanimate object sure could stir some feelings. Of course, there'd be no competition, Craig was the real thing. For, there is one thing that Craig Tucker has grown to dislike over the years of being physically intimate with Stan, and that would be his own boyfriend worshipping anything that’s not attached to his body.  

“Hold on. Stop what you’re doing,” said Craig.  

While grinning, Stan whacked the flexible dildo against his cheek several times. The evil gleeful stare turned into a display of ridicule. At another slap, and the handsome boy went crossed-eyed. His big blue eyes bounced with mischief at Craig.

“Oh, why?”

“I’m getting the camera.” Craig looked at his phone, then back at the road. “Keep doing that.”

When the car slowed at the edge of the dirt road, Craig readily brought his phone up to record Stan. Spit dripped from the corners of Stan’s mouth while he concentrated and twisted his head, the toy slipping further to the back of his throat. The suction side of the cock was attached to the window while he ran his hand over it, up and down, and sucking it slowly. Craig panned the camera closer to the boy, his own cock strained hard against his zipper.

Clear spit at the sides of his mouth, Stan inhaled when he brought himself up.

“Well, well. You’re lookin’ pretty hungry over there,” said Craig, when Stan had the toy in his hand again, his tongue pressed against it.

“You think?” challenged the noiret in the passenger’s side.

“Yeah. Let me grab you some Papa John’s. You’ve earned it.”

“Oh, good one.” Stan gripped his seat, swaying to Craig’s side with a wide grin. “What about that poker game you lost at Clyde’s? I thought we’re broke.”

“I’ve still got some loose change to throw around…”

Close one. Craig had almost forgotten about the little white lie he told Stan to cover up what had happened with his tires. Deciding to busy himself again, he directed his iPhone at Stan.  

“You sure?”

With nonchalance, Craig tore his eyes away from the dildo.  

“I get paid next Friday." He changed the subject. Stan nearly laughed at how impatient Craig began to sound.  "Now, come closer, I’ve got something that tastes better than that fake piece of shit.”

“It’s rubber. It doesn’t really taste like anything.” Stan confessed, accepting a kiss from Craig after he shimmied out of his own seatbelt. “But… Now that you have my full attention, I’m interested.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Craig agreed. “Get down, babe, it’s time for you to give me some head.”

Not a single argument from there. Stan ran his hand over his boyfriend’s thigh and leaned forward. Craig was a man of action, that was indefinite. But it was nice seeing what Stan could do once in a while, it was nice to see him try. They were both assertive in their own way. The phone remains in place in his palm while Stan flattened his tongue over the outline of his dick and mouthed his cockhead. Careful not to ruin Craig's pants any spit stains, his tongue pressed again and dragged a slow line over it.  

The zipper of Craig’s slacks become undone. Craig reached over to pet Stan’s head. Stan’s palmed Craig’s weighty cock out from the hole of his boxers. Noted, a real cock, not his 'ridiculous toy'. Craig was already hot and firm in his grip. His cock flushed, grew and pulsated in Stan's hand.  Pre-come pooled over the rosy head when Stan pulled the foreskin back. The former schoolyard bully above bit his lip while Stan coaxed more of his dripping with slow, practiced strokes. Reclined in his seat, Craig pressed his eyes shut while Stan wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock. Delicious wetness engulfed all around Craig and at a slow pace. Stan took several inches of him in the back of his mouth. The lewd noises were faint and only for their ears while the music from the radio spread in the compact car. Stan bobbed and twisted his head over Craig’s shaft, drawing a soft and shallow gasp from him.

Spit collected at the sides of Stan’s mouth, he rubbed his tongue against the underside and tongued the vein. Completely thankful that he wasn't wearing his beanie, Stan allowed his hair to be gripped. The other male panted above him with his fingers curled, pushing his head further down. No worries there for his gag reflex. That was a grade school thing and it was exclusive to the rarest cases of puppy love. Craig still makes Stan's stomach do somersaults, but by now, Stan is immune to it. The barfing. After teasing and measuring Craig's dick to his face, Stan pumped Craig’s shaft in his closed fist just like his toy, and then his mouth pulled to the tip, over and over again. A flick with his tongue again, spiraling and teasing his cockhead. Craig spreads his legs wider.

Lashes fanned over his cheeks, Stan attached his mouth to his sac, smoothly letting out a hum. The tip of his tongue traced up to the head again. Back inside his mouth, Craig’s cock disappeared in the wet cavern and Stan took his time, sucking him slowly.

"Mmm... Use your tongue, stroke it...” whispered Craig. 

Sheriffs usually drove around that path during the night. It would be sure to give Stan a new high again, his lips continued sliding over Craig's cock.  

"My cum-addicted whore."

Stan smiled around his length. 

Craig spoke to the camera. Spit bubbled and ran down his wet shaft. “Look at this dumbshit. He can’t get enough of it, he needs it everyday.”  

More lewd sounds from the corners of Stan’s mouth. Tongue pressed against Craig’s cock again, Stan had an open-mouthed grin, partially revealing his white teeth.

Craig lets out an ‘mmm’ when Stan mouthed the side of his cock. 

"Like it when I take my time?” Stan licked. "Gonna bruise my throat... make it fuckin' sore. You're so big."

"Mmm... Stay like that, I think I'm gonna milk this a little," breathed Craig. Stan's palm slicked up and down Craig's length, they made eye contact again.

“He'll do anything. He loves being on his knees, he loves to submit." Craig's phone caught more of their audio. "Are you my stupid slut?"  

“Yeah, the stupidest. I’m your stupid fucking cumdump.”

“Are you my bitch?”

A big ‘YES’ for Stan. Fury for those types of questions diminished years ago. “Fuck yeah.”

Stan swooped in and sucked on Craig’s index finger. The other male's middle digit slid in and Stan's tongue curled around it, his mouth slipping down Craig's joints. Bottom lip pulled down. The way his soft lips were pressed against him and his teeth scraped against Craig's skin, would provoke tremors if Craig had less control. They made out roughly after Craig pulled on the other boy’s shirt, and then he shoved Stan down by his shoulder.   

“Get back in your position, cuntface. I’m still dripping, keep sucking.”

No snippy comeback from Stan. Not there. Very compliant with his motives, he did what Craig said. Mouth stretched open, he feasted on his shaft again, letting the sizable organ slide to the back of his throat with no problem. Dark eyebrows knit and the bank teller breathed lowly over his seat. “Fuck…” Craig’s hand came down again and he gripped Stan’s hair tightly. “Fuck, babe, that’s so good.”

Stan’s head bobbed again.

“Keep going. Suck my dick... suck me hard.”

At that point, he would put his satisfaction in front of everything first, before worrying too much if his phone captured it.

 _“Mmm,_ suck it… Shit, babe… I'm so close... I'm so close,  _gonna_...  _"_ Over the raspy breathing, Stan accepted the several ropes of come that splashed over his face from the twitching cockhead. The boy eagerly caught as much as he could and hungrily lapped up as much of Craig’s semen he can, much like a starving orphan that was licking the bottom of an empty bowl. He bowed and caught more spurts in his mouth. Craig recorded that as well. Not a single lick was spared or went to waste. Stan sucked the rest of Craig and drained his balls while he shuddered in the chair below him. Bare wicked grin etched on his own face, Craig slapped his boyfriend against his cheek with his semi-hard cock. Stan smarted at that. 

“Gotta get some better aim, baby. You almost got it in my eye.” The mushroom print fades when Stan suggested that and pats Craig’s leg before he blew at the strands of his fringe. Now patting Craig’s leg, he blew at the strands of his fringe. The dark hair floated and fell on his forehead again.   

“Honey, you’re not the one here that needs to worry about looking presentable. I still need to get to the fucking dry cleaners.”

“Well…” Stan pulled his seatbelt over his chest. “Whose fault is that in the first place? We can’t turn back now. Since you've already made the decision for us to coddiwomple here, what else do you want us to do?”

Craig cursed. “Fuck.”

Lips tugging into a small frown, sometimes Craig hated it when Stan was right. Once he finished tucking himself in his slacks. Craig adjusted his bangs after zipping up his fly and started the ignition again. 

 _"Coddiwomple."_ He began driving. "Seriously?"

Stan shrugged. 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the ride to the dry cleaners turned out to be shorter than each predicted. An oil spill on a tar parking space reflected a murky rainbow next to where Craig’s Prius sat. The air was muggy and warm for the most part, as the weather would be tolerable and spring was slowly transitioning to summer again. Stan appreciated warm climates more. It was a significant step-up from than the freezing temperatures they were so used to enduring. Not too warm, but it seemed just right.

They talked about the charity game Stan was going to play the next night and Token’s upcoming birthday party. The dry-cleaned suits were fetched from the small building, then shoved to the backseat. Craig met up with Stan again and left the front door of his vehicle open after bringing his legs in.

Craig noticed Stan scrolling through the pictures of their pets in his Instagram and wriggled impatiently once he turned around to face him.  With a cigarette sitting on his mouth, Craig met Stan’s soft glare. He pulled a lighter up to his mouth and the white stick burned brightly in front of them. Taking a few slow puffs and then blowing some white smoke out, he watched as Stan undid the lock of the door at his side.  

“I can’t hold it any longer.” Stan got up from his chair after getting out of the car. “I’m gonna go behind that building over there.” His next words nudged at Craig. “You comin’? It’d be nice if someone blocked for me.”

A ‘you don’t have to tell me twice’ smile engraved Craig’s usual blank features. It wouldn’t be for the thrill, or anything. Keys in his pocket, Craig followed Stan to the back of the building that was surrounded by wired fences. Their car was the only one parked up front beside an old Bentley SUV. There were a few houses around, but they looked empty. After grabbing a handful of his boyfriend’s supple ass and Stan playfully swatting it away, Craig continued smoking. Right behind the Dollar General beside the cleaners, Stan rucked his shorts and boxers down.

The camera activated in Craig’s phone again, he held it up to his Stan and made it focus on his junk swaying like a pendulum. No argument for being filmed there. Stan was simply the star of the show. That means he must put on one.

With the corner of his eye, Craig’s vision swept behind him and all around while he balanced his iPhone in his hand. He offered his boyfriend a smoke from his cigarette and watched as the swirls of smoke rise from Stan’s sexpot lips. The ones that just sucked him off.

Pee trickled from Stan’s cockhead, then began pouring like a broken fountain. Sweet, wonderful release. He balanced Craig’s cigarette in another hand while the puddle grew below him. He kept at a safe distance, so it wouldn’t get on his dress shoes.

“Jesus, you piss like a racehorse.”

Shirt hiked up in the other grip, Stan stuck his tongue out and he flexed the muscles on his stomach. “It’s from all the soda. I did say I had to go.”

“Fuck that. That must’ve been a lot of fucking soda.”

“And it’s still going.” A smirk was tossed Craig’s way. “Should I sing a song, moan your name?”

“Get on the ground.” Craig had his phone in both hands. “Say my name, moan it.”

“Okay…  you’re the boss.” Stan raised his shirt in between his teeth and squats against the back of the building, knees parted, and wrists resting over his knees. “Ah… Feels so good…  I love being watched.”

“Slower.” Commanded the voice behind the phone. “Say my name.”  

 _“Mmm…_ My Craig… " Stan indulged him. "Craig Tucker, the Fucker...”

Huskiness played in his taunt, he ran his hand over his dick. Craig raised his finger at him. The right angle would be captured in the camera’s lens. His eyelids droop more while the sound of windchime from a nearby house kept him grounded. An American flag hung from the side, the wind barely ruffling it. The first alarm in Craig’s head went off when he sees the lights being turned on through the window. A screen door with metal bars opened and there were blurry shadows behind it. The people emerging from the front steps of the residence pried Craig’s attention away from the other boy.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?!” hollered a man. “Oh my god.”

An old woman who had to be in here fifties gaped at Stan and Craig. Joining the lady, was an older man. Green pupils flitting, Craig stopped recording and turned around to see what his boyfriend was looking at.

“Oh my god!” shouted the woman. The fear in her voice was just as ferocious as her scream. She was wearing a floral dress and holding a tan chihuahua. The dog barked sharply over her yelling. _“Nasty!_ Put your freaking clothes on! There are children in here! I’m calling the cops! Alan! Alan, where’s the phone?! ALAN!”

Stan hiked up his shorts.

“Oh shit! Hurry up before we get in trouble!” Craig grabbed his wrist and they ran.  

 

* * *

 

Wild adrenaline pumped through Stan’s veins. It was another close call, euphoric to him. While sharing a water bottle with Craig, he had a nice laugh with him during their car ride home.

“Yeah, we got caught big time. I think I saw some eyes peeking through the blinds,” mentioned Craig.   

“Shit, it must've been the kids. I didn’t know they were there,” Stan said. “I feel sorry for them now.” 

Craig studied the traffic in front of him.  “Don’t be. Feel sorrier for that ugly old lady, your white ass was the last thing she saw.”

They made it back to Denver just in time. Craig parked in his usual space as they entered the apartments. Unexpectantly to him, Tricia was seated at the bottom steps of the building chatting up with her friend Karen. Craig knew she was visiting and Stan had mentioned it before. Still, he Craig would rather not see familiar faces from their old mountain town.

After the car door slammed behind him, Stan brought himself up and followed. The girls looked up at Stan and Craig as the pair walked up to them with their pinkies linked. Frown sliding at the corners of his lips Craig had his eyes glued to his phone again, watching the numbers on his social media decline. As they got closer, the girls could hear their conversation.

“I just lost fourteen more followers.” Craig pushed the phone in his pocket.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll get them back.” Stan rubbed his arm. “Who cares anyway? It’s just numbers. “

“I care. They’re our numbers.”

Tricia had blank posters in between her legs. Glancing down, Craig regarded his sister with silence before he raised his finger at her. She returned the family gesture before following him up the stairs of the complex. Tricia signaled her shorter friend Karen to walk behind her.

Stan was the one to speak first to them.  

“Hey, Trish, Karen."

Almost in unison, their voices overlapped. "Hey, Stan." 

"Um, where’s Kenny?” he pointed, turning around at the shorter girl.

“He had to go to culinary school for orientations,” replied Karen.   

“Whoa, Kenny got in?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” chuckled Stan, “that’s so awesome.”

Karen’s cheeks pinkened, she couldn’t agree more.

“Welp, that’s a step up from whatever the hell I thought he’d be,” Craig added. “I always thought he’d study to be a gynecologist or something.”

“He’d still be a helluva one.” Stan beamed before turning his head. “Karen, that’s really great.”

Karen nodded, the other girl didn’t smile.

“Okay, now it’s your turn.” Craig’s eyes fell to Tricia when he keyed his door open. “I’m seeing you’re here more often, what’s the deal?”

Ignoring the starkness, Tricia crossed her arms. “Nothing, I’m just visiting.”

“For what? South Park’s grown pretty decent now. There’s plenty of recreational stuff there you can do there instead of coming here.”

“Ah, hold on. Not everything needs to be overanalyzed,” whispered Stan behind his hand, while they stepped past the welcome mat. “Maybe she just wants to spend more time with you.”

The girl overheard him. “I don’t.”

Karen frowned at Tricia’s frosty tone.

“Oh,” said Craig.

“Don’t you ‘oh’ me.” Huffed the fifteen-year-old girl. “You missed my cheerleading tryouts, but I guess that’s expected of you, anyway.”

Craig narrowed his eyes. “All right, I see where this is going –” 

“Yeah.” Tricia skirted around a chair, standing over a kitchen table. “It’s always one-sided, isn’t it? I support you. You never support me in any of the things I do.”

Stan’s eyes widen at her green contemptuous glare. Getting to know the girl over the years, he never remembered the girl being so forward. Tricia pulled a few fallen strands away from her face and turned her head.

Arms crossed protectively over her chest, she watched and waited when her brother stood there with his predictable lack of response. She knew Stan was looking at her, but shifted her eyes and walked over to the sofa with Karen. Holding a plastic container of markers, Karen brought herself to the floor and began drawing large letters on the blank poster canvas with the colleges’ school colors.

“Mom and dad are fighting again. The rest isn’t any of your business. We’re just here for Stan and Kenny, that’s it. Right, Karen?”  

Craig walked away. Karen picked up a green marker and began shading in the poster. She couldn’t reply vocally, just a meek nod. It wasn’t forced, she understood her friend.

Things were silent after a while. Stan strode over to Craig who emerged from their bedroom after kicking his shoes off there.

“You’re just gonna go and avoid her like that?” Stan said softly.  

“Yup.”

“Why? She’s family. You can’t just bottle it up and leave it inside. Think about all the good moments you guys could share later on.”

Stan followed while Craig sauntered toward the stove.

“I know we’re technically adults and stuff now and we’re free to cut out whoever we want from our lives, but right now Tricia could need you more than ever. Can you at least consider it? I just don’t want us to be alone and she's one of the few people we're gonna have, there’s not really a choice there.”

“Okay then, pumpkin. Remind me of that when we bump into Shelly,” Craig said in a bittersweet tone.  

Stan’s wiped his face down with his hand. “That’s not fair, dude. I really think you ought to fix things with her.”

“Life’s not fair, Stan. Tricia is a smart girl. She’ll grow up and forget about it eventually.” Craig casts a soft glare at Stan, re-reading his doubtful glance. “Go wash up before dinner. I’ve made my decision. Don’t you dude me.”

Pots and pans were pulled from the cupboards where Craig stood. He grabbed oregano from the spice rack while he began gathering the simple ingredients for spaghetti. 

A change in the room’s atmosphere. There would be some positivity left to linger in it. The girls giggled as they continued their work on the posters. Stan apologized and kissed Craig’s cheek before turning to them with the magazine they left there the night before. After cleaning up in the bathroom, he overheard Karen speaking to Tricia.

“I think I wanna be a cheerleader too,” Karen said. “Would it be too conformist if I tried out? I mean… if it’s not too late.”

“You can still be on teams and not be a conformist," Stan said. "Life’s too short to miss out on any fun. You only get one. Do whatever the hell you want.”

“You have to know how to twerk,” Tricia said flatly, gluing cutout stars onto the poster. She finally met eyes with Stan. “Can you twerk, Stan?”

Karen stifled a small giggle.

“You don’t wanna see me twerk,” Stan said.  

 

* * *

 

  
Several minutes after Kenny came to pick up Tricia and Karen, Craig significantly felt at ease, not having to deal with his younger sister. After pushing the metal latch of his front door and locking it, he vanquished the thought of texting her and puts his apology on hold. He had just enough time to prepare food for her before the lights had gone out.

Severe winds from the next thunderstorm ripped the powerlines outside. A pile of dirty dishes was stacked in the sink and the heavy stench of Yankee candles marauded the thin air. It invaded his brain and his senses. At the center of the kitchen table, a few smaller and regular candles in glass jars were lit there.

The past week had been too stressful, too long for Craig, who usually liked to take his time with things. App scandal, ex-boyfriend, and now his sister Tricia. Hectic, bothersome, frustrating. The past needed to be the past. Craig wanted to move on and leave it all behind.

In front of one of the mirrors in the living room, Craig began undoing his tie and it slipped from his neck. 65%, was the amount of battery life he still had left in his phone.

Stan sent him a message with a few emojis: _{hurry over. i drew you a bath.}_

Craig grinned at the blue bubble. Thoughtful. That would be the best term for that. He took his time walking over to the bathroom and saw Stan sitting over the edge of the tub with a match stick he blew out just seconds ago. The scent of lavender, jasmine, and amber was much less assaulting to Craig's nose than the Yankee candles that were melting in the kitchen. There was a clean rag resting in the middle of the rim. Red rose petals were scattered over it and small candles at each corner of the tub. The large bouquet Craig got Stan the night before was resting over the sink. Deep reds pop out over the white bubbles that float in the tub. Stan blushed faintly.

“Kinda used your gift for me on this one. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” Craig’s jaw dropped. “I love it.”

If more than anything, Craig was a bit shocked. But being with Stan for a good amount of time, Craig knew that he was a romantic at heart, but never guessed that Stan would do small favors like that before they got serious. With some battery still left on his phone, Craig smiled and did a quick Snapchat story before leaning down and brushing his lips to Stan’s. The peck was light, a chaste one.

“I love you,” Stan said resting a hand flat on the other male's chest.

Craig bowed his head and kissed him once more. “’Mn, love you too, cherry. You know what this means, right?”

“Three consecutive blowjobs every Friday night from now on?”

Looking over his shoulder, Craig grinned.

His clothes were a puddle underneath him and he stepped out of them. Over the noise of his belt clinking against the ground, Stan sat on the toilet and bit into a rose, attempting to take a quick selfie while Craig sank in the tub and craned his neck up at him. The petals fell from Stan’s mouth.

"No," Craig sagged his shoulders in the tub, "it means I’ll spoil the hell out of you, once I get this new job.”

Fingers running over the surface of the water getting bubbles on his hand, Stan had an arm folded over the edge of the tub with his chin propped over it. He gave Craig a pout.

“Spoil me. Don’t you do that all the time already?”

“I’m your boyfriend, I’ll never stop spoiling you.”

“Oh. Thanks, Daddy.”  Stan preened in a low disapproving, pitch.  “You’re my boyfriend, you don’t need to keep reminding me again and again.

There was a small smirk engraved on Craig’s face and completely satisfied and resting while Stan was dabbing his chest with a warm rag. Adoring how he was treated so princely. Pitch white from the phone screen ghosting over Craig’s face and torso, the teen in the bathtub glanced up from it and he stopped scrolling.

Craig’s hooded eyes became rounded. “Wait a minute. What did you just say?”

“I said ‘Oh. Thanks, Daddy. You’re my boyfriend, you don’t need to keep reminding me again and again.’” Word-For-Word, Stan repeated the phrase in a deadpan. Now settling both arms at the edge of the tub again. “I appreciate everything you've given me. You don't have to continue showering me with gifts to show that you appreciate me. I told you before, I'll still love you, even if we ate mud and lived in a cardboard box. Now, relax will you? Enjoy your bath, darlin'. I'm gonna get ready for bed. Call me if you need me.”

Assorted flower bouquet in his arms, Stan walked out of the bathroom, leaving the other fellow in the tub to muse. He gave the roses in front of him another whiff with it pressed to his nose. Facing the front tiles in front of him, the water dripped from the faucet in front of Craig and his phone laid at the side of the tub. His eyes were pressed shut.

Stan popped his head in the doorway. “It was the tone, wasn’t it? Too sarcastic?”  

“Nope,” Craig shifted his eyes, “not at all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again all. So, if any of you guys have my Twitter, you guys will know that this chapter has been divided into two. Not exactly two parts, per se, but I was afraid that my writing would be too lengthy again. For all that have sent reviews in the past and present, thank you. I'm really glad I can write Staig and this fandom's been pretty awesome.
> 
> So, while that's out there... regardless if I get reviews for this filler-ish chapter or not, I will still supply this site with what I love. More Staig. But, even just a reaction gif or an emote, those are pretty cool beans. High school flashbacks of Stan and Craig are still far from over. (Not a spoiler; it's in the tags.) As well as all deleted tags... they are still relevant. Thanks for reading. xx


	11. Snot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Muscle memory._  
> 

Stan arranged his leftover flowers in the few empty bottles of booze that he’s collected over a span of two years. For all the good moments that he kept score, staying sober had been much or less of a challenge, now that he has a bit of a support system, including his boyfriend. Stan’s road to recovery had been bleak and staunch. As for the empty vodka and liquor glasses, they aid to him as a big reminder to not go down a certain road again. They would be there as a physical indication of his past struggle when he needed them.  

With a hand dragging over the kitchen table, Stan leaned forward and blew the candles out. There was one left that glowed in a glass jaw. Stan walked back to his bedroom in the apartment and watched the phone on the nightstand light up before he brought himself over to it. The picture that flashed on the screen was his dad Randy with his eight-month-year-old niece Ella being spoon-fed in a high chair. Randy’s hairline has receded and he was graying around his mustache again, which called for more bottled dye. Stan swiped the screen and answered the call.

“Hello?” responded Stan, pulling the phone up to his ear.

“Oh, hey, son. I heard you were on Play’d?”

Stan blinked at that. “Uh, yeah, but not anymore. Me and Craig checked it out. They got rid of our stuff this morning.”

Revenge porn. A big ‘go figure’ for Stan. Not the least surprised, one of his parents would turn up and go check on him, deeming that the last incident with it in high school didn’t go quite well for him.

“I heard you’re speaking French too? Now, what the hell is that all about?” The grate in Randy’s tone made Stan perk up slightly. Far from sleepy, but the statement woke him up. “French, Stan. French?!”  

“Yeah, not fluent yet. It’s just for fun.” Eyes wide, Stan’s voice nearly cracked.

“Stanley.” His father calmed down some, mincing his words. “Please be considerate of your grandpa that’s watching you in Heaven. Just because he’s gone now, doesn’t mean he’s not guiding you from beyond.”

“I know, dad.”

“So, no more French for now on, right? No more eating croissants and using faggy variations of everyday words you can just say in English? No more wielding around your little pussy sticks?”

Stan exhaled when Randy delivered more questions. Vape, of course, would be brought up. “What?”

“No more wielding around your pussy sticks. You wanna be queer, not a flaming homo, right son?” Randy continued.

"I really don’t see what’s the difference.” Stan’s voice was flat, hating how his father talked to him as if he were a toddler.  

“Yeah, I think you’re gettin’ the hang of it now. Just practice that.”  

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

* * *

  
  
Craig kept his neck pressed against a u-shape pillow as he submerged himself in the suds that floats around him in the bath. As his fingers dipped in the water, steam rose in the tub.  

“Stan did all of that?” Token asked intrigued in the group call of his phone. Some emotion rouse from him, but it was more of sheer curiosity than blatant cheerfulness.

The lens of Craig’s phone was panned just to his collarbone.  “Yeah.”

 “Pretty cool.”

Lazy blinking, Craig kept still when his friend didn’t elaborate. Clyde was in a wifebeater shirt next to an ironing board in the split screen.

“So, any idea what you’re gonna do about the followers you lost?” the brunet jock asked sincerely.

The water surrounding Craig splashed when he moved up. Clyde’s mouth became the shape of an ‘o’ when the noiret instantly glared at that. Token slanted his mouth and buried his face in his arm, he was lying on a couch with the desk lamp on in his room.

“I’m gonna keep moving forward,” Craig said plainly, rising up slowly.  “That’s all I can say. What is there to do?”

The camera pointed at the shower curtain for a moment.

“Well, I agree with Craig. We definitely can’t move forward if we keep up with that,” stated Token.” I’ll talk to Tweek after this. Some things _definitely_ should stay in the past.”

“Yeah, well I hope everything gets back to normal again,” Clyde said that over the gurgle of water being drained in the tub after Craig pulled the rubber plug. 

“It will. I gotta go now.”

Token nodded a little and Clyde gave a peace sign.

"We'll chat later," the footballer said. 

“All right, talk to you later, dude,” said Token. 

 

* * *

 

Craig finished scrubbing and rinsing the bubbles off his body while standing underneath the showerhead.

While the pipes made sounds behind the wall, in the bedroom jointed to the bathroom, Kyle’s voice came from the speakers of his Macbook. Navigating his avatar on World of Warcraft, Stan lets out a small chuckle, sliding his finger over the touchpad. The computer still had some battery life left. 

The best-friends conversated about nostalgia for the game. Stan placed his hand inside a tumbler and drew out an ice-cube, nipped it, and pushed it in his mouth. He was lying on his stomach stark nude, legs sprawled over the blanket. As Craig could see when he walked in the room, every bit of Stan was shown in clear view. The muscle curve of his ass, the dimples on his lower back, his balls pressed against the linen bedsheets.

Craig closed the bathroom door behind him.

“Your oral fixation is kicking in again.” He regarded the ice, pulling his towel off.

Craig combed his hair with is fingers. Attention hooked, Stan turned his head and studied the anatomy that hung between his boyfriend’s thighs.

“Dude, is that Craig?” Kyle asked, voice thin through the speakers.

“No, it’s Clyde, who else do I sleep with?”

Years ago, Stan remembered when Cartman said Craig and Clyde sounded alike. Which, was something Craig disliked. Stan fished another ice-cube and slipped it between his lips.

“Whoa. I think Bebe’s here. Chat with ya later, dude,” said Kyle.  

Stan rose up and cocked a brow. “Bebe?”

Craig imitated Kenny’s gesture and stuck his tongue between V-shaped fingers before the muscles on his face settle again.   

“You’re so silly.” Stan arched his lips at him.

“Rebecca.” The uncomfortable silence strangled Kyle before he corrected himself.  “That’s what I said. See ya tomorrow, dude.”

“Yeah, dude. See ya tomorrow.”

When the laptop finished shutting down, Stan closed it and placed it on the nightstand.

Slumped on his elbow, Stan slid further to his messy side of the bed before he rolled over, facing Craig. By then, the other boy is fully aware of his staring. Craig’s body was indeed a work of art to Stan. He was toned and his muscles flexed in all the right places. Underneath the mature layers of boredom and apathy, lies a svelte young man who still reveled on how destructive he has been since boyhood.  

Stan’s cold mouth slides against Craig’s warm one. Craig cupped the other boy’s rear, nipping the corner of his jaw, his chin, and his throat. Stan tilted his head, accepting them. He himself turn into a puddle again when he was eased on the mattress. The glide of their lips connecting again, those calloused hands skating down on his hips again.  After their faces separated another time, Craig kissed Stan more fiercely, then gave his lip a nip in return from that morning.

“What was that for?”    

“Just a taste of what you’ll be getting soon.”

 Stan motioned back with a coy grin.

“It’s gonna be our anniversary next month.” Craig dragged his thumb over the other boy’s swollen lip. “I love how sharing and spontaneous you are. You gave me something tonight, let me give something to you.”  

 

* * *

  
Goosepimples rise from Stan’s pale skin. Every line and angle; every intricate detail on Stan, it would be his for the taking again. Craig kept calm while he teased a melted ice-cube over his chest, with it held in his mouth. Dark lashes fluttered closed. Stan couldn’t help but giggle softly at the sensations.  

“Sorry, this is a little different than candle wax.” Stan covered his face with his right arm. “It just tickles…” Another involuntary niggle spilled from his lips when Craig circled an ice-cube around his nipple. A tongue flattened and lapped up the water that slid down Stan’s breast bone.

Stan circled his arms and around Craig’s neck and gasped when he trailed heavy kisses down his stomach. A hiss of appreciation followed when Craig ran his tongue over his skin, nuzzled his face over him and applied more starving kisses above his bellybutton.

“They both tickle you.” He kissed lower.

The cold mouth pulled another moan from Stan. “Not that spot, you’re making me horny again.”

“Good.” Craig rolled another wet ice-cube over Stan’s inner thigh. “That’s sorta the idea.”    

After sucking more pink marks to the area that connected to Stan’s groin, Craig sank his teeth into his boyfriend’s hip. Stan pushed his pelvis into the other teen’s touch. Craig cupped his balls in his hand, giving them gently pinch and an experimental rub. Stan’s vision becomes hazy when Craig slicked his dick in his closed fist, twisting his wrist. Like a few of their classmates, both were well-endowed. Hearing how wet he was only made Stan more aroused. Stan melted underneath Craig and then he finally went down on him.      

More spit spluttered around Craig’s mouth while he sucked Stan’s shaft. Biting down on the fingers of Craig’s empty hand, Stan moaned over the noises of Craig’s relentless slurping and rolling his balls in his hand. Drool seeped down his chin. Stan lowered his irises as Craig’s pulled his mouth over his sac. Face between his legs, Craig spreads his ass cheeks with one hand. Leaning downward, he teased, dotted, and licked a line up to his hole. A pleasant coldness rolling off of Stan, he gasped before Craig plunged two fingers inside him after they circled his sphincter.

“Open. Spread it for me.”  

Doing what was said, Stan spreads his legs more. Craig vigorously thrusts his fingers in and out of him and their faces align. Another searing kiss when Craig mashed his mouth against his, his hand kept moving.  

 _“Feels good...”_ he panted. “I like it... I like it so much… _Craig…”_

His lover’s name droned into a delicate whisper, breathing and screwed his eyes shut while the other teen gripped his throat and continuing ravaging his hole.

Stan cried out sharply. The headboard thumped against the galaxy blanket nailed to the wall when Stan writhed and arched his back. Craig gave the underside his ass a smack with his other hand and flipped him over roughly. Stan’s fingers gripped and slid through the sheets while Craig defiled him some more, warm chest pressed against his back.

When Craig ripped his hand away, Stan whined at the particular sensation of being left him cold and aching for a few short seconds. A violent tremor was induced when Craig lashed Stan’s ass with another flaming handprint. Breathing choppy in his lungs, Stan shuddered. Another delicious tremor when his ass was hit again, coaxing a yelp from him. Ravished and left in a puddle of his own drool, Stan twisted, panting against the pillow. Already in another daze and wet with wanton desire, he stayed in his spot, awaiting the next gift from his boyfriend. 

Arm grabbed and body tossed to the end of the bed, Stan reached out for Craig before their mouths collide again. Another deserved rain of hickeys was sucked and teethed over the jock’s neck. Slipping his fingers through Craig’s dark hair, he gasped while his body became littered with more bitemarks and kisses. Stan panted evenly against Craig’s chin when he reared over him again.

It was one of those things Stan loved. When Craig grabbed his hair to made him look up at him. Craig did just that. 

“My baby likes it rough, huh?”

Stan ran his tongue over his. No single complaint from him, he was ready to be Craig’s for the taking again. Top or bottom, it didn’t matter how he got it anymore. Past is past. Stan was ready to be claimed. This was him when the doors were closed. Stan wanted to be abused and objectified, and it wouldn’t have a single impact on how he handled himself in the outside world. His inner masochist was pouring out. It leaked and it showed. For, the most carnal of their sexual endeavors was yet to come again. Stan felt his head swim as he melts into a slow kiss. Dizzy, completely light-headed again.

“Spit in my mouth," requested Stan, too unabashed to turn himself down at the moment. Like a liquid-based bullet, saliva hits his chin and his tongue. Stan would catch as much as he can. Craig spat on him again, slipping his digits in Stan's mouth, his drool sliding down his fingers. 

A grunt was let out from Stan when he was flipped on his stomach. Stan could feel the tuffs of his hair being pulled by the root. His chuckle was muffled by the quilt when his face dug into the mattress. Stan wiggled his ass. Craig smacked his rear again, removing his thumb from his mouth.

“Control yourself.”              

Stan waited as his boyfriend uncapped a pink bottle of lube, before graciously letting himself be spread in Craig’s fingers. At the generous pressure and weight pressed over him, Stan beamed before Craig speared half his length inside him. Pretty soon, Craig began moving. When their fingers intertwine on the surface of the bed, Stan’s dark eyebrows creased. The animal-loving couple mimicked each other’s moans and low grunts.

Cold kisses were poured over Stan’s back while more pink hickeys were sucked over his skin. Craig’s thrusts were low and frantic. His toned ass bounced with each shift of his pelvis. In full surrender, Stan sank more in his spot.  

“Oh God, oh God...! _Babe, babe, yes..!”_ Another cry slipped from Stan’s parted lips. The headboard tilts at each crash of Craig’s hips. “ _Oh fuck,_ Craig! I love it…”  His breathing became shaky at the intenseness and intrusiveness of Craig’s thrusts. _“Oh my God!”_

“That’s right, I am God.” Craig gave his ass a crack with his hand.

Another exquisite cry from Stan. _“Uh!”_

A pink print blossomed over his pale skin. The tender area was slapped again and again. The scent of the bubble bath radiated from Craig’s skin. After Stan’s arms scrambled with poor attempts to clutch onto something, he dug his fingers into his palms; he cried out again. There wasn’t a single beat missed when his former rival fucked him flushed against the mattress.

“Get up my little whore, bounce that ass for me.” The music track changed on Craig’s iPhone. “Bounce it.”    

The extra exercise would be no problem for Stan. If Craig had a whistle, it would be more comedic. Such a request polarized with Stan being told to control himself. He suppressed a chuckle.

Craig’s hand skimmed over his rear. Divine and in full control. Laughing while panting. “Bounce it." 

When Craig pulled out, Stan sat up breathing as if he ran ten laps. Crouching down beside Craig’s hip, Stan took the opportunity to suck him right there with just as much gusto he had in the car. With his skull grabbed and his pliant mouth bruised and fucked, Stan surged forward again for another kiss.  Their mouths part and Craig’s grip moved to the root of his cock. He instructed the other teen to sit on it.

Their lovemaking was clearly an athletic event. Craig’s breathing quavered and Stan sucked on his ear while he bucked his hips into him. With his hands cupping Stan’s rear, Craig then grew restless of the rocking above him and took over. At the change of pace, Stan’s laughter was reduced to another groan. The headboard thumped the wall again and Stan was the first to come. His dick twitched and his hot seed splashed on their stomachs.

Craig thrusted deeper and rougher and then he was still. The muscles below clenched around him, milking his cock for everything it had. Craig was a silent moaner, however, he wasn't unexpressive as well. As from past research, heterosexual men were the most robotic in porn; noted from Craig. A tasteful spasm wracked tiny sparks of bliss through his nerves. His cock jerked and jets forth his white liquid through the slipperiness of the lube, filling and gushing over Stan. He was breathing hard when he finished. Arrogant, haughty. In the past, full of disregard for his primal urges being fully unlocked; but now he embraced it.  

Their naked bodies were a complete sweaty and sticky heap after Craig painted the other teen's walls with his hot fluid. The result of the deed dribbled down Stan's thigh. Panting hard, they marinated in the disaster they’ve created. Wetness pooled over the dents of their chest and muscles. Weak kisses were shared before the couple rolled on their backs.

“Haha. Take that. I just cooked us dinner and conquered Uranus before nine.” Craig declared with a complacent grin.

“I gotta admit that was pretty amazing.” Stan pulled a pillow over his face. “Wish my phone didn’t die, your music sucks.”

“Touché dickweed.” The blankets distort when Craig got up from it. “They'll be plenty more where that comes from. Let's get some rags and wipe ourselves off. I’ll get us some water.”

 

* * *

  
Blue irises skid toward the window behind the curtain, to the bits of laundry that was littered on the floor, then back at his Craig’s hand; which, was handling his dying iPhone.

With his eyes peacefully pressed shut, Stan lets Craig toy with a stand of his hair while he had his cheek was pressed to his bare chest. Aside from Craig pulling on a pair of gray sweats, Stan cleaned up as well and threw on a pair of briefs.    

“I really hope the soreness dies before the big game tomorrow,” Stan rasped against Craig’s skin. “I’m so glad you’re home… I know I say this a lot, but I never thought I’d get used to this...”

“Yep,” Craig vocalized, planning his day on the screen. “Preparation does wonders.”

“No, not that,” Stan sighed.  “I meant us… being real boyfriends. No more sneaking around into each other’s rooms or empty portables or quick feel-ups in a dirty shed. We’re actually here and it’s real this time.” In Craig’s empty palm, Stan was idly tracing circles in it with his index finger.

“I thought you liked that stuff.” Craig chuckled. It halted when Stan glared. “You were always my real boyfriend, you just didn’t know it yet.”

Stan harrumphed at that. “That’s cute.”  

“You think I’m lying?”  

“No, I know you mean it. It’s just that, it kinda took you a while.” The blankets rumpled partially when Stan settled his arm over the fold and craned his neck.

“It took you a while too,” Craig countered, surprisingly wounded by that. “I wasn’t the only one that was indecisive with it.”

“I don’t think either of us really knew what we wanted.” Stan drew over the M in Craig’s palm. “You told me you didn’t love me. It really stung.”

“I love you now, why does it matter?”

“It’s interesting. I just wanna know what came over you, that’s all.” Stan released his hand.

“It’s stupid kid shit." Partially combative, but not meaning anything hurtful, there were some things in childhood that Craig didn't want to take credit for. "I didn’t move to this city to be pelted with more reminders of how bad I was. I’m gonna go to my interview during break tomorrow, did you quit yet?”

That pertained to Stan’s job. Next, came a soft whoop of annoyance from himself.

“No,” he squinted at Craig, “and another thing. We need to talk about this me _not working_ thing tomorrow. You’re not gonna be the only breadwinner here. I didn’t move all the way down here with you to play house. I pay rent and go to college for a reason. Now scoot over, I’m tired. You can stay up if you want, but I’m goin’ to sleep early.”

“Okay, well, think about it.”

“I’m not gonna, because I already made up my mind when we moved here. ” Stan glared. “Goodnight, _hon.”_

Frowning, Craig leaned over at the nightstand and blew the candle out. 

 

* * *

 

The storm continued beating against the roof and the clock of time rolled back rapidly.

Golden sunset, wired fences. Suddenly, Stan was twelve again.

He sat with his back pressed against the wall in his gym clothes. The bell to go home rang and most of the kids cleared the elementary school building. He kept his arms curled around his head and his legs tucked in. Cheeks streaked with fresh tears, he kept his face hidden while he sat beside an empty bench that led to the fire exit. Palm pressed against his eye, he rubbed most of the wetness away.

His girlfriend at the time Wendy sauntered over to him, backpack strap held in one hand.

She patted the top of his head. “Come on, Stanley. Get dressed, if you need to catch up with Eric and the guys, you’ll need to get ready faster than that.”

“They’re already gone.”

The girl plopped down at the bench above him.  “How so.”

“Wendy, what’s wrong with me?” Out of the blue, he nailed her with the new subject. A sniffle escaped him. He didn’t it want to. His eyes were red-rimmed, the snot kept flowing.  

“Oh, Stan, that question is absurd. There’s nothing wrong with you. Your friends were probably just being their usual selves. You guys are always laughing at that stupid fart show.”  

“No, Wendy, _it isn’t_ absurd.” Stan disagreed, he slipped his fingers down his face. “I freaked out. I think I really screwed up this time.”

Stan’s bottom lip quivered. Chatter from other students behind them. Wendy knelt down on one knee and touched her boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Say no more. We’ll discuss this someplace safe, okay?”

No call for his parents and Stan already missed the bus that day. Wendy’s father was polite and dropped them off at her home. Stan didn’t want to go to his house, not when he was expected to be there on that day.

Stan held hands with Wendy when they stepped up to the stairwell to her room. He was in his normal clothes like she suggested. In front of the pink door of her bedroom, he glanced around before walking over to Wendy’s vanity set. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and ruffled the melted snow from his bangs lightly with his red gloves on.

“Are you okay now? Do you still want to talk about it?” the girl asked after she sets her backpack down over her floral mattress spread.  

“Yeah, I’m ready. Just give me a moment.”

“By all means, please, whenever you’re ready.”  

Stan struggled for a bit. He cleared the mucus from his throat with his fingers curling underneath the table behind him.

“So. We should just kinda delete what we saw over there.” The words were scratchy in his throat.

Right there, Wendy was tempted to give Stan another hug. She could wait. Wendy held it off as he went on, to see if her speculations from the past week would be clear.

Stan began again, voice somewhat shy. “And as you know, today is my birthday. I’ve got a party set up. It was gonna be cool. Not that today would be any special than the others. But, like, our parents aren’t chaperoning this time. So, in this case, it is kind of a big deal this time… only…”

Slim legs crossed seated on her bed, the girl in the beret remains attentive as Stan brought up his friends. He told her how they slowly started to avoid him. How things were changing between him and Kyle. They didn’t invite him to go to the movies with them. With an exception of Kenny, he’s been sick. Stan said it would just be him alone. He voiced that he ate his lunch in bathroom stalls to avoid being seen alone and interacting with the other outcasts. After absorbing what he said, Wendy tilted her chin up and pushed her hair behind her ear.

She wanted to know more but waited until he finished.

“Did you confront them?” Wendy asked.

“Today I did.”

“What about Butters?”

“He had just as much to do with it as everyone else did.” Stan clenched his fists inside his pockets, mouth pinched in a thin line. “Kyle pulled me over after school today and admitted something. You wanna know what he said?”

“No. Please go on.”

“He said I’m an emotional vampire. Apparently, that’s what I do. I suck. Just suck the hell out of everyone’s energy and life.”

Mouth covered with her hand, Wendy straightened her spine. She’s never heard him sound so spiteful before.

 “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”  

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I would’ve figured it out, anyway.” Stan absentmindedly pressed his body against the table behind him. A rose-gold tube of lipstick fell on the floor after he brushed against the vanity. Apologizing to his girlfriend, Stan picked it up.

Wendy watched as he pulled the cap off of it and winded it up. Entirely fixated at the item, Stan didn’t realize the careful footsteps that were padding behind him.  

“Do you like this color on me, Stan?” her voice came in.

A few inches away from his face, Wendy was close. At first, it was the smell of her shampoo that snapped him out of his distracted daydream. His eyes held a dreamy fogginess weighed with a dark sadness. They were the same height now in the sixth grade. She used to be a head and an inch taller than him.

“You can put it on me if you’d like.” Wendy shrugged her hair behind her back.

They’ve grown so much with each other. Being physically close to Wendy took some time for Stan. The severe shyness diminished. No longer throwing up as often, and then not at all. Over the past few years, he’s gotten use to her little touches. The progress to contain himself was gradual. The lipstick slipped in Stan’s hand and a red streak slid down Wendy’s face. Stan couldn’t help but laugh when her face pulled tight for a millisecond after he dotted her nose with it.

“Stan,” she giggled.

Her laughter was one of the most precious things in the world to him. Wendy is a good person. He could be himself around her. Stan’s heart tugged when he thought about the guys; his best-friends. How they would react to seeing him like this. They would scrunch their faces up if they saw him anywhere near makeup. Stan flinched back, a natural reaction when Wendy streaked him back with another lipstick stain.

“Come on. Let me do yours.” She squished his chin gently with her small hand.  

The suggestion made Stan turn red. “Wendy, you’re not gonna put lipstick on me. That stuff’s for girls.”

“I saw the way you were looking at it. Do you like this color?”

“It’s a nice color, babe. I’m not putting it on.”  

 

* * *

  
  
Stan kept to himself while Wendy placed a reassuring hand on his knee. Astonishingly enough, that wasn’t his last and final stance. After a moment, the green light was given a go and Wendy started out small, painting Stan’s lips rouge. After letting her apply a subtle amount of powders and mascara on him and sharing commentary with her looking at his reflection in her hand mirror, Stan washed his mouth out and discarded the tissue before he went home.

It was their private thing. For several weeks and months, they tried it. They never spoke about what led to it. The practice increased gradually. Stan would let Wendy put makeup on his face every other Saturday. Or, when he couldn’t, he’d let Wendy paint his face while the others were away.

Months turned into years. Around age fourteen, things were slowly progressing to an end that Stan didn’t quite like.

Seated on the floor of his girlfriend’s room, Stan lets the young lady apply liquid primer to his face. The hues that surround him weren’t as harsh. Just different. Things were more tame. Sophisticated and pastel colored.  

“Wendy?” he called out to her.

“Yes, Stan?”  

“You know I love you.” His fingers fumbled with the sleeve of his red varsity jacket. “And you know that I’m attracted to guys and girls... It took me some time to figure it out and I still am. I’m glad you’re okay with it.”  

Wendy pushed his hair back. “I know, Stan, of course.”  

A different year in summer camp had put him to discovery. That, maybe things were not right; and there scarily being a huge possibility that he liked boys more. He thanked the man in the sky that Wendy was such an open-minded girl. His sexual attraction had nothing to do with what they’ve got. Stan would still be faithful. Wendy cherished that part of him. No concerns for him cheating there.

“I think I’m gonna come out this Friday,” the noiret said.  

“That’s great.” Wendy uncapped a bottle mascara. “Do you know what you’re gonna say? What about your friends?”

“Kyle saw me watching Ru today.” Stan kept his eyes low. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Wendy took a deep breath before dabbing Stan’s bottom lip with a lip-gloss wand. She delicately raised his face, preventing him from giving her a downcast look.

Stan’s limbs froze at the jiggle of the doorknob. Neither of them could process what would go on when Bebe arose with a red purse clutched in her hand.

Matching red pea coat, stockinged legs, and a pair of Ugg boots. Amber lashes fluttered from the view of the couple.  

“Wendy, I texted you this before you left why the hell did you—” Bebe plodded toward them. Her judgmental goggles instantly activating.

The nightstand shook when Stan bumped against it.

Hand cupping Stan's shoulder, Wendy looked as petrified as Stan toward the blonde. The words did not form.

“Oh… my… god. Is that Stan?” Bebe's eyes bulged in fascination.

A Kleenex was furiously ripped from its box at the nightstand from a troubled Wendy.

She worked her dainty jaw to say something, severely hoping that her boyfriend didn’t think it was a setup. Stan’s blues flit to her. They said ‘help’. Stan grabbed the tissue, avoiding Bebe’s perplexed look.

The chesty girl twisted her lips at Stan.

“What’s with the face?” Bebe scowled, seeing eyes were on her again. “You look like you got your hand caught in the cookie jar.”

_It’s only a bet. It’s just a stupid bet. The dudes at the team— no, no, Cartman._

The pictures in his head were wild and rampant, cultivated with his mixed feelings. It appeared that Wendy had more than a few words to stay to her best friend. Her concerns were loud and she didn’t hold back scathe in defending her boyfriend Stan.

The sound of Bebe’s camera going off in her phone jerked Stan out of his frightful daydream. Wendy snatched the phone away from her.

High-pitched laughter rang from the curly-tressed girl. One that would put an evil Shirley Temple’s grin to shame.

“Bebe!”

“What? He looks cute! Don’t have a bitch attack, Wends, I deleted it.”

“Stan, I didn’t know she’d come,” Wendy whispered.

“Which, is kind of fucked up, because we’re girlfriends, but I’ll let that one slide.” Bebe was casual and she glanced at Stan again. “But seriously, Stan, hypocrite much?”

“No, Bebe –“ Wendy was cut off.

“Now I know why you made fun of the volleyball team so much when we were little. You were just jealous.”

The words were sharp. At her presence, Stan felt ill. Even for such an insignificant role Bebe had in his life, the sentence incapacitated him. His face grew hot, but not much so out of rage. To the blonde’s discovery, Stan was a silent crier. Her smile began to fade when she noticed the wet and angry tears splashing on his coat. From there, there couldn’t and wouldn’t be an explanation for it anymore. Stan was powerless. No immediate puns or any verbal attacks to cover it up. Physically and mentally, he wanted out. Just doing half of that, he nearly tripped over Wendy’s rug when he bolted out the door.  

No rush to contact Wendy since then. She understood. The weeks that passed after that have been psychologically damaging for Stan. As it turned out, Bebe didn’t delete the pictures as she had said; like Stan predicted. Many months would go by with him having lipstick flicked at his tray during lunch time and cosmetics spilling to his feet when he opened his locker.

Ahead of time, as Stan learned, being surrounded by protective peers that verbally warded off his enemies could only do so much. Stan had shut himself out again, not wanting to burden himself and be harassed with more questions. When the news broke into the town, the men in his family could barely handle it.

Until one day after gym, Stan was in a quivering sobbing mess with his hair scrunched up in his hands. The dilapidated building with high windows supplied an abundance of sunrays pouring onto the locker room bench from where he sat. Specs of whit lent floats in the air.

At the slam of a locker door being shut, Stan nearly jumped, eyes flooded with hot tears, then flitting over disdainfully at a familiar boy wearing a chullo.

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want, Craig?” Stan was irate.

Hardly in the mood to see his arch nemesis from the playground, Stan became entrenched with a dark attitude. Indeed, they have gotten better at communicating. It would be Stan that constantly had his guard up, even if Craig had stopped antagonizing him physically years ago. 

“You come to tell me how much of a fag I am?” The longtime quarterback glowered, as the other boy pulled his water bottle out and slipped it in his backpack. “Gonna rub it in my face? Well, here I am.”

Craig glanced at his phone in his palm, ignoring the other boy’s mating call; or poor display of dominance.

“Yeah, I like makeup, so the fuck what? It’s the fuckin’ twenty-first century, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Craig kept still after he rose from the bench-corner next to Stan.

“It’s not like the whole school doesn’t think I’m one anyway. So yeah, go ahead. Take your best shot, douchebag! Unless you’d rather do it in public, go ahead! You wanna take it to the hall and make fun of me, Craig? _Go right on ahead!”_  

The non-vicious eyeroll from Craig nearly gave Stan chills when the collective boy pulled his backpack straps over his shoulders.

“I’m not here to laugh at you,” said Craig.

Heart beating rapidly, Stan’s fake smile deflated, tears streaming down to his chin.

“Jesus Christ, Stan. Show some dignity. You don’t have to be gay to like those things. You said so yourself.”

The crying noiret was completely immobilized. 

"Here." A travel-sized pack of Kleenex was placed in Stan’s hand and the other boy left the room. The further Craig walked, the more objects disappeared.

Cheeks still damp, Stan’s pupils shrunk when several hands and arms emerged from the darkness. They clawed and curling around his arms, stomach, and legs. Snakes were not pleasant to him. Relatively, this is what those limbs had remind Stan of. They had the grip of a boa constrictor; an animated firehose. Anxiety and fear paralyzed him. He suffocated.  

 

* * *

  
  
In a different reality, an older Stan was lying on his back. Bathed in cold sweat over his complexion, he remains deep in slumber as the only light source in the room would be Craig’s phone.

The power came on again and the device was hooked to the charger.

Thick water droplets splattered in a small plastic bucket near Stan’s end. It didn’t disturb him much. Of course, for each plop, Craig felt significantly more irritated and annoyed. He’d coolly ignore it. Clyde was still awake in his dorm texting him about the long-distance girlfriend he had. Token left their group chat earlier to sneak his girlfriend Nichole into his dorm room.

When Craig’s attention drifted from his friend’s prattle, he decided it was time to say goodbye, and placed his phone on the table beside the bed.

“I’m still the same…” he overheard Stan saying.

Craig brought himself up to the source of the sound. He blinked lazily and moved closer to him, folding an arm over another, listening in. The blankets pooled around his bare back and he rested his cheek on his palm under the flap of his chullo.

“Leave me alone…” continued the delicate voice in front of him. “…just go away.  Please… go away…”

A pair of lips descended and pressed over Stan’s cheek.

“Get off… get the fuck off! Get off! _GET OFF!”_  

He was crying. Hot tears soaked Craig’s hand from when he cradled Stan’s face in his palm. A violent jerk from Stan and kicked his legs.

“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone… _please!”_

Startled, but not enough to make him scurry back, Craig shook his shoulder gingerly but briskly enough to make him stir awake.

The blackness from behind Stan’s eyelids were quickly blurred by tears. His eyes were wrenched shut again, now conscious and weeping loudly. Noticing the dripping from himself, Stan moved up and placed his palms over his eyes.

“Hey baby, get up for a moment,” said Craig gently. “You were having a nightmare again.”

Stan looked down. More dampness blotted the blanket and Craig brought the other boy’s face up, cupping it with his two hands.  

“Deep breaths… It’s okay, I’m here.” Craig pulled Stan to his chest as his cries began to build again. “Let it all out. I’m here, sweetheart.”

Stan broke down with a sharp sob. Letting the other boy’s form hunch to him, Craig brushed more soothing strokes over his back and lets him curl up against him, clinging to his waist. Soaking his chest, Stan blubbered and whined.  

“Darlin’, I can hear them all laugh at me. It’s gonna happen again! Everyone's sick of me, I’m gonna die alone!” Stan wept through his tear-clotted voice.

“Shh, shh, shh… It’s okay. No you’re not, honey. You’re not gonna die alone, come here.”

Craig’s disposition was quiet and poised. It was an ordinary reaction for himself when things were spiraling down slowly for him again. Not wanting to compare his boyfriend to his ex again, but not being able to resist. Craig noticed both Stan and Tweek had shared vast similarities. Most of which had to do with their vulnerability and weaknesses.  

“Don’t cry, baby… baby, don’t cry,” Craig said softly. “I’ll take you to feed the ducks next weekend, would you like that?”

Bare shoulders wracked below him. Fingers were threaded through Stan’s hair.

“We’ll have one of those vegan picnics. Is mayo vegan? We’ll have your favorite. Will that make you feel better?”

Through the tears running, Stan blanked at the silly 3 am questions. Still shocked that humor could comfort him, he nodded.

Of course, mayonnaise wasn’t vegan, Stan wasn’t going to tell Craig. Neither is honey or half of the confections or silly nicknames he had for him. As for the golden and syrupy treat, that had been one disastrous blowjob they wanted to put behind themselves. Craig felt him stir, hearing another sniffle.

“Thanks again,” Stan said. “I think I remember why I love you even more.”

He closed his eyes as he received a kiss pressed to his lips.

“Thanks for the sugar.” Craig brought his face up. “We should probably…”

“Yeah...”

“Honey?”

“Hm?”   

Positioned differently with is head on his boyfriend’s lap, Stan rubbed Craig’s wrist with his thumb and gazed up at him.

“Did you take your meds?”

Rumination put on pause, Stan ceased the subtle movements. His thumb stopped moving. Everything went by in a flash again, he had forgotten to take his pills.

Stan brought himself up to the side of the bed and pulled an orange bottle out from the top drawer of the nightstand. The capsules rattled in the cylinder container as Stan poured it over his open palm. Stan grabbed the glass of water beside him and popped them in his mouth.

“Mn, there we go. Just in time too, thanks for reminding me.”

Craig grabbed Stan’s face, fingers digging into his cheeks. “Open.”

Forced to look his way, Stan opened his mouth, letting him check underneath his tongue, and everywhere in between. Of course, he met Craig with a glare. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but feel smaller when he’s around his presence.

On the contrary, Stan didn’t remember when he had ever felt that way. He must have given something up a long time ago.

“Okay, we’re clear.” Craig closed his jaw for him. “Don’t forget next time.”   

“I won’t. Jesus, babe. I’m gonna splash some water on my face, I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

  
The water plopping in the pail from their bedroom was still audible. Toilet lid pushed up in the small bathroom, Stan sank to his knees in front of it. Rose petals that were drying lie crumpled around his knees and quartz rocks were still lined over the edge of the tub. With a single index finger, he slid it to the back of his throat.

Careful not to provoke any sounds from his throat, Stan kept his tongue relaxed, heaving quietly. After seven attempts, his stomach muscles contract. A hand tightly gripping the seat, he lurched forward.

The corners of his eyes were once again, reclaimed by tears. A liquid that consisted of mostly water cascaded over the corner of the toilet bowl where Stan strategically pointed his mouth. Surrounded by bubbles that had a mixture of mucus, were the pills that he digested moments ago. He wiped his wet eyes and brought his body to full height.

The lid was flipped down. Stan brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth, and cleaned the rest of himself up. There’d be another opportunity for him to hate his reflection later. For, he wanted to cuddle a bit before Craig fell asleep. However, he did glance at the new hickeys that were forming over his stomach, neck, and chest. There’d be some pride in it, which he would learn to wear them as a badge of honor someday, just not at work; or sports, or formal events. When Stan returned to their room, he noticed his boyfriend’s eyes were closed when he crawled into the blankets and wrapped his arms and leg around him.

“My little spider monkey,” doted Craig.    

Stan's eyelids felt leaden again and he shuts them. He could already hear him snore.

 

* * *

 

More pink scratch marks appeared on Craig’s back while he rolled and ground his hips underneath the linen sheets. Leaning down, he panted near Stan’s ear, while more pink marks burned and faded on his chest. Their faces were close and Stan caught Craig’s shoulders. As the teen on top sped his thrusts, the helpless cries from Stan fizzled out with a soft moan as Craig would dip down and steal another slow kiss from him. Encased by his own sticky warmth and bleary-eyed, he spasmed and rode out the rest of his climax, raining lazy kisses over Stan’s neck and face.

“You’re so cute when you cling,” Craig said, inhaling sweat and fruity shampoo from him.   

“What time is it?” panted Stan.

“Seven-fifteen.”

The jock snapped out of the bed like a fish out of water. Craig pulled the blankets to his legs.

“Drills, oh my god, I totally forgot!”

“You’ll be okay.” Craig’s hand flattened over the bedhead on his scalp.

“No, this is really important I gotta get there now!”

“Don’t rush. It starts at eight today. You’ll still have plenty of time.” 

Stan balled up his clothes and ran to the bathroom.

Texting Kyle after that was a breeze. During their facetime interaction, the redhead grimaced at the rustling sound above Stan.

“Yeah, I really recommend it, dude,” Kyle said. “The graphics are insane. You don’t need a membership for it or anything. You just log on as guest and —”

Stan’s cheeks inflated while he concealed a blush and smile. “Sounds sweet.”

More rustling from above. An additional giggle slipped from Stan.

“He’s humping you, isn’t he?” Kyle’s eyelids sagged.

Knees digging into the bed, Craig brought himself up, balancing his guinea pig on one hand and then two. Looking over his shoulder, Stan kissed Stripe’s twitching nose when the chubby animal was offered to his face. He spat out a tiny piece of lettuce and gave Craig a crossed look. A low cackle from his boyfriend and he dusted his hand near the logo of his joggers.

“I thought you had an interview today. What’s with the casual look?” pointed Stan.

“Oh shit,” Craig cursed. “You’re right.”

Once finished with changing into different clothes, Craig waltzed into the kitchen where Stan migrated to during his call. The taller noiret pulled his blazer over his tight turtleneck after stepping into his shoes.  

Craig could see him. Stan was wearing track pants and a sweatshirt. The football star stood over a round table stirring a large spoon inside a pitcher.

“What about Friday?” Craig overheard Stan.

“Hey, that works. What movie are we seeing?” Kyle answered.

“I heard John Wick’s comin’ out with another sequel real soon. Let’s watch that. I think it’s the last one. I heard his wife gets reanimated in it, it’s gonna be super badass.”

“Yeah!” Kenny’s voice cheered in the chat.

“Dude! John Wick again?” Traces of anguish was evident in Kyle’s tone.

Stan dumped more sugar in red water while he welcomed the upcoming complaint. Craig’s focus dipped to the white avalanche that filled the plastic pitcher. Stan wasn’t looking and he carelessly lets the sugar build to the bottom of it.  

“It’s not like we’re really missing out on anything else if we see this one little movie.” Stan gave a light-hearted laugh. “I mean, what else _is there?_ Godzilla?”

“Yes,” Kyle said firmly. “Godzilla, Revenge of the Nerds, anything but that John Wick crap and those other horrible remakes.”

“They’re all remakes, dude.”

“I know, I meant those.”

Craig stopped Stan, gently pulling his wrist back.

“Cartman?” The Jew’s voice weighed in on the portly brunet that wasn’t speaking up.

“Yeah, John Wick’s cool.” The plotting brunet said to Kyle in return. Only, he wasn’t so plotty.  

As for the other three, they were not aware that Cartman locked eyes dangerously with Craig after his ‘coverup’ remark.

After sipping the Kool-Aid that Stan poured into his cup, Craig snagged his car keys that was sitting by the arrangement of flower stems and glass bottles on the table.

“So, it’s settled then, we’ll all meet at the mall this Friday.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Kenny to Kyle.

“Whatever.” Cartman left the call first. 

“What do you think?” Stan asked Craig, cold cup in his hand.  

“It’s great.” Craig leaned forward to give him a smooch.

The kiss was put on pause when he felt fingers and Stan narrowing his eyes gently at him.

“We’re still not through yet with that other discussion,” quipped Stan. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. You can be nice without lying.”

Before the other male could respond, Stan entered the living room to pet his dog.

Clearly, that would be something not to let be built and ignored. Something felt off-key after that to Craig. For certain, it wasn’t the drink. It was something more than that, something that lies many layers underneath the surface. Craig ripped the note that was taped to the front door read it, then immediately crumpled it in his hand. That, being another exorcism joke from their next door neighbor, jabbing them for how loud their sex was. Letting the situation not affect him, Craig looked back at Stan. 

He waited until Stan finished slipping on his Nikes.

“I heard the cafeteria's open at the campus today. Maybe we can share a bagel or something,” said Craig. 

"I'd like that. Let's go." Stan grabbed his hand. 

 

* * *

  
The humidity contrasted again. There were still puddles on the ground from the day before. Downtown would be the busiest around noon. It was getting there. That was where most of the college students work to provide from themselves.  
  
_“He'll do anything. He loves being on his knees, he loves to submit..."_ Audio of Craig in a video _. "Are you my stupid slut?"_   

_“Yeah, the stupidest. I’m your stupid fucking cumdump.”_

_“Are you my bitch?”_

_“Fuck yeah.”_

“He’s sober,”  Butters blinked surprised, reviewing the explicit footage on an iPad.

Ironically, the friendly blond and Cartman were employees at the same bank Craig was hired in. Just alone with him after getting frappucinos, he was sitting at the passenger seat, reviewing the new money-making plan that the heavyset teen had set up. Since the app had deleted all things made by minors, things have carried on catastrophic on their end and ended with a disarray of confusion for each of them.

“The hell you mean by that?” answered Cartman with a sneer. “You think Stan only gets like that when he’s drunk _out of his mind?_ Where the hell were you in high school?“  

“Hrm, um, I don’t know. Doing my homework like the rest of the cool kids,” muttered Butters with a tinge of bitterness.

“Then you really missed out.” Cartman licked his lips. “Man, I tell you, Craig really brings the slut outta him. We’ve got enough to start charging people for membership too. Two aggressive and attractive homos goin’ at it. You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Butters backpedaled, nearly yelping at that. “I don’t think I wanna.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman smirked before reiterating a previous line on Play’d. “Liar, liar. _Pants practically off?”_

“Oh, that. Eh, don’t give me that look, I thought it was clever at the time,” gruffed the blond.  

“Um, hey Butters?”

“Huh?”

“We almost got caught.”

The exaggerated baritone wasn’t appreciated by the thinner boy. “Oh yeah? Well, I thought I did a pretty good job. If you don’t like what kinda job I did, you can just kiss… my cornhole.”

Headache, that wouldn’t be the correct all the way for a zonked out Cartman. In floral-colored dress shirts and dark ties, the duo stepped out of the car beside a parking meter. Gritting his teeth, Cartman froze in his spot when his sights latched onto Craig who was climbing down the concrete steps of a large Chase building.

Somewhere not so far away, the tall goth Michael was taking a smoking break from his miserable call-center job. With his walking stick he navigated toward the barista that Cartman and Butters had walked out of minutes ago. Yellow tape surrounded the front of the building. On the sidewalk, engraved with chalk were doodles that were etched there by the police. Other pedestrians avoid walking too close there. The street was busy, business was still in order. The black ‘closed’ sign hung crooked on the glass door. It was still accessible. Michael pushed it open, jingling the bell when he stepped inside the coffee shop.

“Ah, hey, dude.” Pete stopped flipping through Tweek’s magazine. “How’s Disneyland?”

The end of Michael’s eyebrow twitched. “Terrific. Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

“Oh, yeah, right. The whole love and conforming thing.” The red goth blushed. Pete pulled himself away from the front counter of the shop. “Are you on break again?”

“Yes.”

“How’s Henrietta?”

“Not so good.”

“Why?”

“What else? Firkle told her about Craig and she wants to kill him. What else is new? We’ll tie him up and get him later—”

“I’m sick of fighting,” blurted Pete. “Honestly, a lot of this stuff wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t such a piece of trash human being.”   

“We should retreat. I think he learned his lesson.” Tweek came in, pouring black coffee into a mint-colored mug.  

“You know _freaking well_ that’s not true,” Michael glowered. “Craig is an asshole. We see him go past here all the time, so it’s not like we can avoid him on shitty social media.”

“Dude, stop! He fucked up the shop, I think that’s enough,” Pete glared back at him. “We’re not kids anymore… we’re not fighters! It’s time to let things go.”

“Did you forget what he did to your face in senior year?” The tall goth took the mug from Tweek.

“You’re not gonna use that against me. We’re supposed to be friends, please don’t do this to me, Michael.”

“Nh, that’s just how Craig is. It’s crazy for us to ever want to change him back then, it’d be crazy for us to try now. We can’t force him to change.”

“No no no, that’s bullcrap,” Michael fumed, facing the blond that spoke. “You just don’t know the right people and how to handle it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it Craig that contributed to one of your worst traumas?”

“Yes. I have several of them,” Tweek bit back a soft scowl.

“He won’t stop. That’s why we have to kill him.”

“No!” Pete argued back. “We hate him, that doesn’t mean we want him to die.”

“Okay, then let me strike up a formal one with some crooks. If we do this right, maybe we can get him raped.” Michael sat at a nearby stool. The long coat he wore was stored away in the locker at the call-center building he worked in, slipping into his seat was easy.

“Jesus Christ!” Tweek looked stunned.

“That’s too far,” Pete objected.  

“Is it?” Michael had no glow in his deep brown pupils. “It’d knock him off his high horse, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t you guys like that? You said he’s always talking about ‘fucking’ all the time in his shitty news feeds. Maybe somebody should put him in his place, maybe he should get fucked for a change.”

“Stan…” gasped the red goth, he just remembered. “I don’t think we’ve talked to him in a while. Oh god, he’s still dating that monster.”

“Fuck. My. Life.”

Pete and Tweek glanced up at Michael after he swore. The gentleman brought himself up from the counter.

“Gotta head back.” Michael brought his mug down from his face. “We’ll finish this later, okay? Text me, Pete.”

Tweek placed his hand over his boyfriend’s arm, pressing his forehead to him.

The coffee decanter behind them nearly spilled. Pete pushed it back. “Yeah, talk to ya later.”

 

* * *

  
Stan kicked an empty box in the storage room of a Verizon Wireless store. The square ricocheted against a wall panel and landed clumsily on the ground. It had been an hour after football practice and he was at work and he was on a break. Kyle was wearing a short-sleeved button-up during facetime on Stan’s phone again.

“So, you like it there?” questioned Kyle.  

“It’s across the street from where Craig is.” The warm and fuzzy feelings were there again. Stan couldn’t help the dizzy lovelorn smile growing on his face again.

“Oh, Chase. I thought he was quitting.”

“Yeah, there’s an insurance company that wants to hire him two doors down. We’ll still be close.”

“That’s pretty sweet.”

“Mhm.”

“So, what are ya gonna do when he finds out you’re making more money than him?”  

Stan sat at a folding chair balancing a tape roller in another hand. “It’s not a competition, Kyle.”

“Yeah, but tell that to Craig.”

“My salary is as good as the commissions I earn from it. And money’s kinda tight right now. That’s not even the issue… I’m lying to him and I think he knows.”

“So, your meds make you a little queasy and sleepy. Why don’t you go to your doctor and change prescriptions?”  

“It’s not that, Kyle. Craig’s really been really supportive of me all the time and all I’ve been doing is—”

Police sirens were an earshot away from him, being borderline barricaded and surrounded by a bunch of objects. Stan raised his head and dropped the tape roll. A formation of a mob grew like bacteria across the street at the front window he took a glance at. He rushed to the front of the store, weaving through other employees and two customers, earning a glare when he bumped arms with one.

“Stan?” Kyle called. 

“Er, hold on a bit.”

Stan opened the notification from Clyde.

**Today 12:03pm**

_{STAN! IT’S CRAIG!}_

_{U GOTTA STOP WHAT UR DOING! GET DOWN HERE! RITE NOW!!}_

“I gotta go, dude. I think something happened.” Stan hastily left the call and pocketed his phone. Fear knotted inside his chest at the mention of Craig.  

“Hey, where are you going? You need to clock in again!” One of the managers sprinted to him.

“That can wait! I’ll be right back real quick, I promise!”

 

* * *

  
  
Clyde was already tense when Stan made it through the crowd. A bright flash from an expensive camera made him partially disorientated. He was to ask the brunet what he begged him to come down there for until two men in badges and uniforms were shown walking Craig down the steps of his workplace. Craig had his hands up. He caught a glimpse of Stan in the audience but kept his lukewarm appearance.   

“Stan!” Clyde called him over.

Dismissing the chatter and the voices that interrupted his thoughts, Stan propelled forward and wedged in between a herd of other students that went to his school.

He stepped past the yellow tape. “Craig?!”

“Stop right there!” shouted one of the officers.

“It’s okay, we know each other,” Stan said with hands raised slightly.

They didn’t budge.

“The bible kind,” Stan said flatly.

The cop that screamed at him gave him a stern look before twisting Craig. The two men told him to put his hands at the hood of the car while they searched him.

“Darlin’, what's this about?”  

“We’re gonna have to ask you to move back, sir,” said the other cop.

“No! I need to know what’s going on! Why are you putting handcuffs on him?”

Stan’s stomach lurched. He took cautious steps and then stopped.  

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court,” recited the stern cop. “You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions.”

“Craig, what did you do?”

Flipping the page roughly of his book, the man continued louder. “You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish.”

Usually obedient toward authority figures, Craig chuckled at the last sentence. _“Can’t afford,_ okay.”

“If you _decide_ to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time — do you find this funny, Tucker?”

“No, I was just laughing because I’ve been planning this date with my boyfriend all week and a job interview… and now I’m gonna miss his game and my sister hates me.” The male in the chullo lets out another snicker.

The cop kneed Craig in the stomach and he doubled over, grunting.

“What the fuck?!” Stan cursed.

“Stay back, kid.” The second cop’s taser glowed with a low zap in his hand.  “I said don't move! You’ll make things worse!”

“I screwed up,” Craig coughed.

“Babe, why?! You said you’d never fuck with the law again — what the hell is this?!”

“What the hell does it look like?! I busted a window at Tweek’s shop and now they’re arresting me.” Bright red oozed over his bottom lip, Craig turned his head and spat, tilting his irises. “It looks like you’re gonna be alone for a few days. I’m really sorry I can’t make it to your game.”

Stan felt his intestines jerk inside him right there. Distress filled him. “No no, don’t say that! You could’ve handled it differently, you shouldn’t have done that!”

The car door slammed after Craig was shoved inside from the officer pushing his head.

“Craig!” screamed Clyde.

“Tell Clyde not to worry about me.” Craig knew all too well that Cartman would be one amongst the others in the crowd that is recording his arrest and cackling in the back. Mouth bleeding, Craig was facing the opposite way of the window that was rolled down halfway. As the vehicle began rolling away slowly, he hung his head. “I love you.”

The other boy stopped walking. “I love you too, babe.”

“Remember to go to bed on time. Don’t forget to take your meds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Thanks for being completely patient with my typos and the changes in this fic. I won't say off the bat that I don't try really hard when I dump my chapters here, because I really do. Hope you all enjoyed the plot and the lemon. 🍋🍋🍋 As for the next update, I'm not quite too sure if that one will come really soon again. But estimating how frequent I updated the earlier chapters, they use to come in twice a month. But yes. Staig, isn't it great? Thank you all for reading. New comments are greatly appreciated. xx


	12. Human Error

Craig leaned away from the window inside the police car. The temptation to scratch the tip of his nose was somewhat irritating.  He kept silent while the men at the front of the vehicle chatted toward a speaker. His reflection looked back at him through the front view mirror with just as much passivity. Dull ennui in his hapless façade.

Cuffed wrists sitting over his knees, Craig finally mustered a few words to the men that were sitting in front of him. Particularly of sorts, pointing out a certain code that was recited to him in front of his boyfriend.

“You guys used the Miranda Warning,” pointed Craig.

The cop at the passenger’s side scrunched his nose. “Look at this guy. Sittin’ here _all smug._ Just what the hell do you know about the law?”

“I know that I didn’t commit anything heinous enough to warrant it.”

The policeman’s gray-black eyes met with his partner’s brown. Both sneered and guffawed.

“Oh, please,” said the man at the steering wheel. “Don’t give us that crap. You know what you did.”

Craig pressed his lips together before replying. “I’m being completely honest, sir.”

“Honest?!” screamed the man. “You wanna talk about honesty? Were you being fuckin’ honest with yourself when you threw that brick at that poor kid’s coffee shop?!”

A momentary pause from the male in the chullo. “Yes. Yes, I was.”

The men glared.

“You annoying little shit.” The other cop said. He turned to the window again. “All right, I’m done. Don’t try to reason with him, Joe, he’s gone. Just like the rest of the trash. Let’s just get back to our job. Cleaning out scum like him from our streets.”

“Yeah,” remarked the first cop with a scowl. “Scum.”

 

* * *

  
  
The sun has set. Sunlight gleamed over metal. The weight of Craig’s car key dangled in Stan’s hand. Clyde had given them to him previously that day. They had agreed to meet up with each other once they were done with their separate shifts.

With his cheek resting on his palm, Stan waited until it was time for him to clock out after politely dealing with his last customer.

Due to it being an emergency for himself, his manager had been lenient that day. Firm, but not at all too strict. It was a real, as he could say, a ‘nut twister’ when he had to deal with him face-to-face again, but it wouldn’t be anything compared to what he dealt with in the past.

Finally able to clock out, Stan waved goodbye and stuffed his hands in his pockets after he left through the glass door. His eyes glazed over at the thought of his friends. It would usually be all four of them, every day, just about. How busy the street looked at the plaza and being by himself had just reminded him of how alone he truly felt at that moment. Granted, they all made such a big move to Denver, ironically. They would still see each other all the time, but adulthood was slowly climbing up to them.

Stan watched as a goldfinch leaps into a tree while enjoying the green Spring leaves that rustled freely in the wind. Most of the rainwater evaporated from the other night. Clyde was sitting at a green bench wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt. The mattress store that he worked at was a few buildings down. A bit of uneasiness graced his youthful face, but he wasn’t overall as tense as he was earlier. When Stan approached, Clyde tilted his head up with a constipated smile.  

“We need to talk.” Stan sat beside him. “Tell me what happened.”

The wobbly grin maintained didn’t excuse itself. He had been trying to keep himself together all day.

 “The first part, or all of it?” Clyde asked.  

“Well, all of it would be nice. What parts do you remember?”

“Uh, I remember that I was about to slide into Stacy’s DM’s. And then Craig texted me about the cops.”

“Before that.” Stan scooted forward on the bench. “What did Craig do? What did he say?”

Clyde thought about his best friend again. As Stan waited, Clyde would try to put it piece by piece, as carefully as he could.

“Okay. I might get to the bad parts soon. Kinda helps if we hold hands. No homo.”

“What? Dude!”

“Okay, okay!” Clyde sighed loudly.   

As a few seagulls fly and landed near them. Clyde poured the whole truth to Stan with mentions of the app and what lead to the fight with the goths. Including every minute passing that he breathed next to his best friend and Token during the day they got the bouquet.

As all events were verbally strung together, not a single moment was censored. The confrontation, the argument, the fork in the dough. Stan looked down.

When Clyde went into detail with the knives again and how there could have been a street brawl, Stan felt himself grow angrier. Craig had mentioned there had been a fight, but he hadn’t mentioned that he had almost got almost gotten physical with the goths.

“All right, all right.” Stan shook his head. “That’s enough. I don’t wanna hear anymore.”

“Well, it’s too late now, you asked.” Clyde folded his arms over his chest. “Oh great. Now Craig’s gonna be mad at me. I wasn’t supposed to mention the knife part. We were supposed to wait until everything blows over!”

“Funny of you to assume that waiting’s my ‘style’.” Stan glowered.  

“You see? That’s the problem with you. You just dive right on in.”

“Yeah? So what? What’s—”

“Goddammit!” The seagulls flew away. “I already said I didn’t want anything to do with it!”

“Dude, chill out, I get it.”

“No, Stan, you don’t understand. You guys really have no idea how much this pains me. This whole damn messin’ around thing.”

“But, you don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Craig told me to keep quiet for too long!” snapped Clyde. “I knew it’d bite us in the ass in the end. Now, look where I am. Even Tweek is afraid of talking to me. I carry their burdens and I get shafted in return. I guess that’s what I get for being a good friend, huh?” 

Clyde jerked up when he sees that Stan began walking.

“Ugh, wait! What the hell are you doing?” The brunet rushed out of his seat in the bench.

“I’m headin’ to Tweek’s.”

“To buy some coffee?” Clyde asked feebly.

“Yeah, to get a dozen cupcakes,” Stan said sarcastically while trying to pinpoint where Craig parked. “Pft, no, I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Bro, no! You insane?! Ya can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. He’s the reason why Craig’s in jail right now.”

The jock from behind briskly followed the quarterback.

“Stan… I really advise you not kick anybody’s ass right now… Actually, I really advise everybody _not_ to kick anybody’s ass right now.”

It was nerve-racking. The locks were undone in Craig’s Prius, making Clyde jump and go into a frenzied panic-mode.

“Will you just listen!?” Clyde yelled. “Craig wouldn’t like it if you handled it alone! Just wait until he gets back!”

“What good would that do?” Stan adjusted the front mirror over a pineapple ornament.

“Just trust me, you really don’t wanna do that.”

“Okay? And… if I don’t, then what?” The wheel was gripped impatiently by Stan when he muttered that. “Let Tweek and them say whatever they want?”

No reply from Clyde.

The dashboard lights up when Stan keyed the ignition. Clyde balled his fists. “Jesus, don’t!”

“Calm down, Clyde. You can grab a seat here if it’s bothering you so much.”

Swallowing thickly while he walked, the second car door slammed and Clyde steadied his nerves before he reluctantly tugged the silver seatbelt over his chest.

“It’s not gonna escalate like last time.” Clyde crossed his arms. “I already made a promise to myself.”

Stan was already pulling out of the parallel parking space and Clyde brought his phone to his lap.  Mixed feelings began to stir inside Clyde once more. Things felt difficult. He was at wits with himself. Doubt devouring him and consuming him whole. The closer Stan got to the café, his breathing was clogged and his heart clenched in his chest.

Doing the best he could, Clyde smothered the anxiety within when they rolled near the green Tweak Bros. sign. To his relief, the switchblade duo Firkle and Michael weren’t standing in front of the Barnes and Noble.

Clyde really hated books. That bookstore was one of those places Craig would go and bring him to tag along during their free time. Even as kids, Clyde felt himself go blank when he was surrounded by works of literature unless they were littered with pictures of naked girls in it. Token would be second to pull him in there. The goths favored the outlet just as much as the Craig did. The presence of the dark clique didn’t always make Clyde nervous, but It was just one of those things that came along with Craig’s fallout with his ex; since Tweek became close friends with them.

Energy already drained from his job at the mattress store, Clyde already wanted to call it a day after the scheduled chitchat at the bench. He wore his varsity jacket over his button up.

Already out of the car as soon as he parked, Stan pocketed the keys in his khakis. At the coffee shop, the glass was all cleaned up and the sidewalk had neon paint sprayed over it. Orange and green.  

Clyde had his hands in his pockets while Stan banged on the glass.

“Hey, open up!”

By the entrance, Stan glared at the closed sign at the door, standing before it.

“Open up, it’s Stan!” He pounded the door again. “Hey!”

After giving the handle another rattle, Stan backed off. Dismayed that it was locked. He shook the handle again before looking through the glass behind his hand.

“Okay. He’s not here, let’s head back,” Clyde said, relieved

“No, _you_ can head back,” countered Stan. “I’m just gonna tell him to lay off. It’ll only take, like, ten seconds. If that doesn’t work, I’ll deck him in the face.”

“Man, you guys really won’t let this cheating thing go.”

“Dude, no, he started it.”

A silhouette of a person appeared behind the shadows, only but his feet shown by the sunlight over the tiles. Clyde stilled, removing his hand from Stan’s shoulder after the dark-haired teen removed his grip from the door handle. The bell above his head shook and made a sound when he opened the door.

“Um, oh, it’s you guys,” Pete said, a little less enthused by their presence.

Stan stepped in front of Clyde, his face softened a bit and the red goth cocked his brow at him.

“Hey, Raven.”

Pete didn’t speak for a while. After that, it was a mutual silence.

“It’s been a while,” The red goth flipped his hair, “right this way.”

 

* * *

 

Pete hasn’t bothered to switch on the lights when they stepped in. It’d just be the natural aura of the sun projecting from the windows, spilling onto the tables. Stan kept his face straight while Clyde looked around.  

The red goth sighed softly. “So, before we go any further… let’s be clear.”

Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“If any fights break out between you guys, I have every right to jump in and beat your ass.”  Pete led them past the empty tables. “Please be cordial. We deal with enough drama from lousy customers.”

“Whatever, I’ll risk it.” Stan cocked his head to one side.  

“Please don’t fight. I beg of you,” Clyde whispered.

They went further into the shop. The cake displays and cupcake racks were empty. Pete circled around the front counter.

“So, you probably heard about everything,” Stan spoke.

“What’s done is done,” shrugged the goth. “We’ll hash things out now. The sooner, the better. Just don’t be a freaking idiot about it.”

“So… wait a minute,” Clyde straightened his posture, glancing over at Pete, “why do _you_ hate Craig?”

“Is that even a real question?” Pete pulled a band of cash from his apron and placed it inside the cash register. “Why does everyone else hate Craig?”

The jocks began walking again when he gestured them to follow.   

“I mean, if he’s not bragging about some paycheck his preppy dad gave him, or that scholarship from some subpar essay he claimed he wrote in five minutes, then what else is there?” Pete turned the lock of the door in front of them. “Oh yeah, that’s right, he ruined my life, slaughtered my boyfriend’s self-esteem, and he’s a giant douche.”

“You guys really can’t be serious. That was two years ago.” Stan narrowed his eyes at Pete. “Dude, I know you. I thought you were cool. You’re not even trying to give him a chance.”

“It’s okay, man, sorry I asked,” Clyde said with a small voice. He spoke behind his hand to Stan. “Can you believe this guy?”

The brown-eyed brunet gaped when the back door swung open. Tweek was in his apron. He had a cigarette between his lips, teeth grazing the butt. Pete folded his arms, making way for Stan to step through. Clyde stood at the opposite side of the door. A dirty newspaper that was stuck to the ground from the rain was sitting by Stan’s feet. Neither of the young men who have dated Craig were in a hurry to exchange greetings. Tweek raised his head with a glum look that etched his delicate features.

“They took him away,” the blond began.

“Oh, that’s great. You must know why, then,” Stan replied scathingly.

“It’s because he’s a jerk, what else?”

Stan shook his head. “Look, Tweek. I know we’ve had our fair share of bad things happening to us, but this whole thing is giving me a headache.  It’s time for you to grow up. We really need to ignore it and find some middle ground here, or else.”

“Or else, what?” said Tweek, oddly more defiant than he’s ever been.

“Or else I’ll kick your ass.”

“Of course, because violence solves everything.” Pete rolled his eyes.

Tweek’s voice blended in shortly. “So, how was he last night? Is he still selfish in bed?”

“That’s none of your damn business anymore.” Stan took another step forward, narrowing the gap between them.

“Nng. It’s fine. If I were treated like any lesser than a human being, or like an object, I’d be bitter too.”

“It’s sex. Everything’s free-game there. I actually don’t care.”

“Sure, you don’t. Look at how you treat yourself. You don’t have any self-respect.”

“Oooh.” Clyde turned an awful pale color at the detail of Craig’s intimacy between spilled between his two childhood friends.

Tweek wasn’t finished with his statement. Stan could tell. He wanted to hear what he had to say. He needed a reason to hit him.

“If you did, we wouldn’t’ be standing here right now. You sucked Craig off at a church, so you’re no better than he is.” Tweek said. The cigarette butt was flicked away in his hand.

“That’s just another stupid rumo—“

“I. Hate. Liars. All I wanted him to do was just admit it. He’ll always be stubborn, he never talks. It’s just like squeezing blood out of stone.”

The voice before Stan was that of the blond; gentle with a fiery trace of hostility that could burn down a whole wall. They were both flawed and brittle with their emotions. There were a lot of things that could easily be said. Anything too specific would be a low blow. Stan would rather fight with his fists than use words. He was going to add a witty one-liner before he went in for an attack, that is until Clyde caught them off-guard with a question.   

“So, how _is_ Craig in the sack, anyway?” Curiosity poked at Clyde. “Not that it’s gay or anything to ask… but I always imagined he’d be a bit of a stiff board or something, but then he caresses your arm tenderly before you guys blissfully drift off to rest. Does he ever moan?”

“Yeah, he makes sounds,” Stan replied.

Tweek agreed, shrugging.

“Oh, okay. Just checking,” said the brunet. “Carry on.”

A shout from Stan. “Dick!”

The wind was knocked away the barista’s lungs. Tweek caught himself on his feet after he received a violent shove from the quarterback. Tweek hooked his fist, landing a sharp jab across Stan’s cheek. A fair number of blows were traded back and forth at each other.

Pete’s eyes enlarged as he ran to them.

“Dude, what did I just say?!”  he complained.

 

* * *

 

“Yes sir, you should be real close.” A stranger not so far away from the group said, pointing directions to another man. “It’s right behind that building surrounded by those trees over there. Right next to where that emo kid is, that jock, and those twinks fighting to death over there.”

Clyde scooped the two boys apart from each other before Pete arrived there. An elbow was jammed into his eye socket and he yelled ‘ow’ loudly. On the ground, Tweek was resting on his haunches staring up at the peacekeeper. Slumped and still standing, Stan panted, clutching his rib after it’d been struck.  

“Can’t you guys see?! This is tearing us apart!” Clyde exclaimed dramatically.

“Sorry.” Pete’s fist landed across Stan’s face. Blood spattered to the ground.

There wasn’t any will for him to clean that up at the moment. In a blind rage, Stan surged forward for revenge, ready to strike Pete back, and take both of the boys on. A set of hands grabbed his biceps.

“No no no no! Don’t do it, man! Don’t do it!” Clyde pulled Stan to the doorframe of the café.   

Tweek wiped the spit from his chin with his sleeve before he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand. His fair lashes fluttered when Clyde charged toward Pete and punched him across the jaw.

A nosy woman was behind a wired fence near them. She had a phone with her and was dialing what looked like a few numbers. 9-1-1.  

Clyde stared over his shoulder at her. “We should probably get out of here.”

Back pressed against the door panel, Stan turned and spat. “Fine.”

 

* * *

  
Stan had a sour look on his face after they evaded the scene. Another bloodied tissue was thrown in the garbage canister in his home after he stepped on the peddle, opening the lid. He looked at his digital reflection of his phone, checking if any red would drip from his split lip.

Tricia and Karen were behind him in the living room. Entering through the door, Kenny returned to the apartment with blue grocery bags in his hands and sets them on the table.   

“Well, that turned out the way I thought it would.” Clyde’s voice came from the table, he had recently joined up with Stan after finding his own car. He glared at his hands with a depressed sigh.  

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Stan’s lips and his fingers brushed over the painful and throbbing sensation over his cheek. Kenny seized his chin in his hand to get a better inspection of the ring-print design embossed on his face.

“What the hell, man? Why the hell were you guys fighting?”

Stan rubbed his cheek when Kenny released him. “You can’t be serious right now. Tweek literally said I have no self-respect. I wasn’t gonna let him have that.”

“So?” Kenny walked to the table and began unraveling the bags. “Tough tits, people say that about me all the time.”

“Yeah, Ken, but you’re…” Stan stopped in his tracks, “special...”

Karen laughed in the background. Her brother’s face became friendly again despite himself. A plastic cutting board was grabbed by Kenny and he rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands and rinsing the colorful vegetables he picked up.

“Bacon?” Stan looked at the meat packaged being unwrapped. “I can’t eat that. Nope, can’t eat that.”

“Aw, why not?” asked Kenny.

“Dude, I’m fucking vegan.”

“Dude, since when? I just watched you scarf down a meat sandwich yesterday. I think it was a BLT. When did you decide that again?”

“Last night.”

 “Man… This sucks!” Clyde whined loudly, stretching his arms over the table. “I just want everything to be normal again!”

“Sucks? How do you think I feel, Clyde? We only got lucky that it wasn’t in front of a bunch of people this time,” fussed Stan. “God, I miss Craig already. Everyone’s been up our asses so much lately. I just want them to stop.”

“Well, it’d all go away if you guys just admit to it already,” Clyde pouted and sipped soda from a cup that was handed to him. “Like… a lot of it _is_ your fault.”

Stan’s eyelids winced. “My fault.”  

“Just admit it.” Clyde didn’t hide the irritation in his voice that time, bringing himself out of his seat.

“Admit what?”

“Just admit that you and Craig have been fucking for two years so we can have some goddamned peace again!” blurted the more sensitive jock. “And don’t tell me you guys didn’t, because I have seen some things!”

Tricia walked with Karen through the front door while Stan leaned on his palms against a counter.

Stan suddenly felt bad. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

“Stan, look. Craig and I are really close. Trust me, _I know everything..._ even about stuff I said I didn’t know about.”

“Look, dude, I really think you’re making a big deal out of something that’s not even important anymor—”

“Stan, please!” the brunet spoke urgently, resting his index finger over the other boy’s lips.

“Really, all we did was kiss.”

Clyde closed his eyes, shushing him. _“…Please.”_

 

* * *

 

_February, 2 years ago_

_Token’s Birthday Party_

 

Large water droplets splashed when Stan shook his head and wiped his face. The inky black tendrils cling to his skin when he swam at the edge of Token’s pool.

Soaking wet with their swim shorts clinging to them, Kenny and Kyle were second to last to walk back inside the mansion to join up to get drinks with the rest of the party. The light of the kitchen spreads and shined brightly over the decorative stucco that lead to the pool. Music from the Top 50 chart blared and vibrated against the thick wall of the large home.

With his feet dipped in the pool, Stan sat at the edge, contemplating what he wasn’t going to say next to his ex-girlfriend Wendy, if he had a chance to see her again.

The sound of crickets chirped loudly as he further immersed himself in different scenarios in hopes that he would come up with a perfect solution with the girl. There’d still be time to have that wedding over a vine-covered pagoda on a grassy hill. His cheeks tainted pink thinking about it before his chest felt heavy again and images flooding his head with denial-filled thoughts.

The sound of splashing in the pool lifted Stan away from the false scenes.

Stan peered downward. There was an image of a person swimming fluidly under the water. Air bubbles appeared over dark hair floating in the body of water. Stan blinked as soon as he realized who it was.

Craig brought himself for air to Stan’s other side. Paddling closer, Craig rested himself on his arms and glanced up at the other noiret.

The lights changed colors again and the song changed behind the glass doors. The crickets were still noticeable.

“I thought you’d be inside getting drunk and high like everyone else. What are you doing out here?”

The stars were bright that night. Stan had forgotten that it was normal for Craig to strike up a conversation with him without stepping on his heels.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Stan said softly. His gaze slid at the beachball and other floaties that were sitting in scattered directions. “Maybe I just wanna be left alone for a bit.”

The other noiret ran his hand over his bangs. “Can I give you a little bit of advice?”

Stan gave a noncommittal shrug.

“You should honestly stop giving a fuck. You’d feel a lot better.”

“You told me that already in elementary school.”  

Craig narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you. It’s still a lot better than what _you_ would’ve come up with.”

“Well, I think I’m getting it now, at least… a little bit.” There was weight at the crook of Stan’s neck, he craned his head absentmindedly. “I don’t know anymore...”

He stopped there, sliding his eyes shut. Craig’s lips were warm. Thoughts reshaping quickly, Stan was suddenly aware again. The main fact being, his classmate shouldn’t be necking him and he shouldn’t be enjoying it. There were still people behind them. No. Even in an empty room, this was not okay. Stan was sure of it.  

“Wait, hold on. What the hell are you doing, Craig?”

The other teen backed away. An even weirder occurrence for Stan. Craig had his hand rested over Stan’s inner thigh, his lips hovering dangerously above his.

Craig seized Stan’s chin, canting his face. “You’ve got something on your lip there. Kinda helps if you turn your head like this...”

Somehow, they ended up making out.

The more reserved one curved his lips over Stan’s in a single smooth slide. Craig’s hands drift down at the sides of Stan’s neck, his thumbs deliciously brushed behind his ears while his mouth worked his. Stan’s hands did its own thing, skimming over Craig’s chest.  

Behind them, the scene distorts and the colors melt from the sky. A loud directionless voice boomed unexpectantly.

_“Annnd! That was Adele with Hello!”_

Stan lunged forward in his bed, gripping his blankets. “AHH!”

_“Big Harry and Mike in the Morning talkin’ about the greatest new movie coming to theaters! And this time it’s starring, Nicolas Cage!”_

His heart raced and hammered loudly in his ears. Drenched in his own sweat, Stan lets the beating organ in him settle before flopping back down on his twin-sized bed.

_"That’s right, Harry. Nick’s really going all out this year, and you won’t believe who’s co-starring with him.”_

To his relief when he lifted up the comforter, the center of his pajama pants, still dry. The dream would easily be forgotten through the progress of the day. Though, it wouldn’t be wet anyway, because Stan would hardly stave off his nightly ritual.

After putting the clock on snooze, Stan pulled the blankets around his shoulders again. He wasn’t going to let his Saturday be ruined. Curled up on his side, he lets sleep take him again.

 

* * *

  
A showerhead sprayed at a wide range with water beating down Stan’s shoulders and back. In his hands, he worked up the lather of soap in his rag and scrubbed it over his arms and chest. The frothy white bubbles mix and float over his skin. While holding a bar of soap. he sang along to a rock melody that came from the speakers attached to his phone. He stepped out of the shower after finishing washing up, soaking the rub with his feet as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

Over the fog floating in the room, the volume of the next song went down 50%. The cellular device buzzed with another notification from Cartman. Toothbrush in his mouth, Stan picked up the phone while foam seeped from the right corner of his lips. After wiping the steam away from the mirror and checking his reflection, Stan answered. The phone was put on speaker.

“Dude, dude! Guess what’s coming to town next Friday? Or, better yet, guess who…” Cartman trailed off as if he were patiently waiting for his own answer.  

“Is it Mel Gibson again?” Stan pulled more dental floss from its small container.

“No, fag! Guess!”

The digital battery bar went empty and Stan opened his mouth. “Wait. You can tell me later. I forgot to charge last night, fell asleep.”

“Aw, dude, that’s super lame.”

“Text me or something, ‘kay?” Stan allowed the phone to die and spat mouthwash in the sink.

 

* * *

 

After Stan climbed into a pair of briefs and another pair of ripped jeans for the day, he threw a red flannel shirt over his dark hoodie and stepped down the stairs. In front of a decorative mirror in the dining room he adjusted the beanie over his head.

A water bottle was pulled out of the fridge and a half-eaten protein bar from the kitchen drawer. Stan balanced both with an apple in another hand. His phone sat in the living room’s end table, plugged in.

Stan munched loudly on his apple while he turned on the TV. It would be nothing but noise from him and a repeat episode of Terrence and Phillip on the flat screen. Sharon and Randy were away at a Cancun resort. Shelly was at Zumba classes again. And inside the house, that only left him.

From the charger, Stan finally picked up his phone after laughing at one of the jokes before a Taco Bell commercial appeared. He was to open a message that was from Kyle and then the doorbell rang.

The Fed-Ex guy had a device and pen in his hand, he held it up to Stan when he answered the door.

“Here’s your package,” said the delivery man, “if you can just sign here…”

Stan’s signature looked like a long and squiggly line. The wind picked up before Stan closed the door. Box tucked underneath his arm, he hurried straight to his bedroom after turning off the television and grabbing his phone from the charger. It was a good thing that Shelly was away.

He could just open it later, but the thrill of excitement has fully made the decision for him. The cardboard and tape were ripped in his hands. There was nothing discreet in the box resting bare over his lap while Stan sat at the center edge of his bed.

The original package was tossed playfully in his hands and he caught it. The blue box contained a blue-faded dragon dildo standing visible inside. Six inches in length, a bit over an inch in girth. The dildo was slightly bigger than the strap-on Wendy pegged him with a few months ago. Stan checked inside his dresser for lube in case he wanted to try out his toy. It still had some leftover, but it wasn’t empty either.  

On his bed, Stan’s phone buzzed over and over again, catching his attention. Behind many plastic hangers, Stan shoved his clothes out of the way in the closet and stuffed the box at the very top end before draping a coat over it.  

That will be its hiding place for now. Stan closed his closet door, revealing the manly posters of action movies he’s been a huge fan of for countless years; at least, in his early life.  

Stan’s phone vibrated against his blankets again. He reached down to pick it up. Cartman and Kyle had sent him several new notifications. He opened to newest one: _{Dude! Turn it to channel 300, you gotta see this!}_

 

* * *

  
To every kid in South Park, the weekend was a huge deal. Every minute mattered and shouldn't be wasted to them.

A few streets elsewhere, things were slowly healing again for the Tucker family All issues aside, it was the beginning of another normal Saturday for Craig. In hopes of putting the bad things behind them, Tuckers and the Tweaks joined together for breakfast at a local eatery. Tweek and Craig wore suits of matching colors inverted. Awhile after that, they retreated back to Craig’s home.

The couple walked hand-in-hand when they climbed up the stairwell that led up to Craig’s bedroom. As Tweek had told Craig about kissing the goth kid Pete, Tweek strongly admitted that opening up to him was a mistake and he will fix it on his own. A rightful apology for leading the other boy on will be put in order, as Tweek promised to Craig.

Craig used his family’s distraction to the television as an advantage to get cozy with the blond again. As they kissed on his bed, things began to get heated. Their clothes were quickly removed and scattered to the floor. With their limbs tangled and naked bodies pressed together, Craig steadied himself and sank his hips to Tweek underneath the covers.

Tears formed at the corners of the blond’s eyes and Craig would sooth them with tender kisses. Short fingernails bite into the skin of his back. As Craig rocked back and forth, he was compelled to quicken the motion in his hips but froze in thoughts of Tweek’s safety underneath him.

“Are you okay, Tweek?” Craig asked, breathing.

The answer was but a small nod.

“I’m gonna move faster now. Sorta helps if you relax.”  

“Jesus!” Tweek thrashed against the sheets and slapped Craig’s arm. Now realizing that it wasn’t pleasure in his boyfriend’s face, but absolute pain pulling in his features. Craig scrambled up on his palms.

“Arr! Take it out! T-take it out!” the whiny yet gruff shout emitted from Tweek.

Struck with panic, Craig slipped out of his boyfriend as he said.  “This isn’t our first time, I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

“It’s not an act. It’s just too much, Craig. I didn’t think you’d get any… bigger.”

“I’m sorry, honey, maybe it helps if you turn to one side.”

“No. We can’t just keep changing positions when this happens.”

“Okay.”

Shaking, Tweek pulled his shirt closed in his hand and slid off the bed. A cold rush of guilt ran a sharp chill through Craig’s body as he handed the blond the earbuds for his phone.  

“You wanna know what I think? I think it’s a sign,” Tweek slipped his other foot in a shoe. “Craig, I think we’ve been doing this wrong this whole time. Maybe… you should let me top.”  

“You wanna top?” Still undressed, Craig was already on his phone. “That’s funny, Tweek.”

“No, it’s not,” Tweek grunted. “This isn’t a joke. You’re always making fun of me. You never take me seriously.”

“I meant that it’s cute.”

“See? You’re doing it again!  You’re so selfish, Craig!”

Craig kept his expression plain when the other male threw his arms up. “We’ll use more lube next time.”

The door slammed and the whiteboard connected to it fell and clacked against the ground. Steam practically rising from his head, Tweek was already climbing down the stairs to catch a ride with his father to the coffee shop.

Craig pulled the blankets from his legs and gathered another outfit to wear for the day. Now realizing that he wasn’t going to reach his zenith without his boyfriend there, Craig stalked toward the bathroom to finish off in the shower.

 

* * *

  
  
Token and Clyde waited outside Craig’s front door after Laura Tucker greeted them. After stepping out to the welcome mat to meet up with usual friends, Craig began his aimless journey around the block with them by foot.

The temperature in the air for that afternoon was perfect enough for Craig to wear his jacket zipped down. Though Craig had preferred not to wear one at all, his mother insisted. Much of the snow has cleared. There’s still be white patches in the front lawns they strolled by, but the street was walkable.

“So how are things with Tweek? You guys good again?” Token tossed a baseball, Craig caught it with Clyde’s pitcher’s mitt.

“Great, it just keeps getting better and better,” Craig said preemptively, throwing the ball back.

“Ah, nice,” said Clyde, revealing a small smile.  

The group continued walking in the middle of the empty street. They each spread out to different spots. Clyde held his hands up at Token and the ball was tossed to him.  

Clyde blinked. “Man, it’s so boring out here. We should totally go see if anybody wants to play ball with us.”    

“Not Cartman,” Token said.

“What?” Clyde raised his head grinning. “He’s okay sometimes.”

“No, dude, he’s really not.”  

Craig caught the ball again. Token and Clyde exchanged opinions about their loudmouth portly classmate and Craig’s mellow thoughts began drifting again. Much further than the extent, he still couldn’t believe that Stan Marsh made a move on him. Well, that would be a lie. Craig has always thought that he was an attractive guy, basic uncertainties put aside.

For years, Craig has patted Tweek’s shoulder and wanted to bring him out of his shell. There had been many things he had put on hold because of it. While the attempts were both straining and rewarding at the same time, Craig didn’t want to put pressure on his boyfriend. He was lewder, more disgusting, and more straight-forward than Tweek. Their first kiss, Craig did that. Most physical advances, it had been him. 

Quite lately, being intimate with Tweek had equated to being thirsty in the Sahara Desert with no food and water. It had been a curse for Craig, not having his physical needs met. Partially to blame, it could be that they started too early and bad timing between them. When one of them was horny, the other one wasn’t. Two different libidos and their views grandly opposite. Yet, they worked through it. They chose to persevere over everything; teamwork.

It seemed like everything had crashed and burned after they gave their virginity to each other. The big decision was supposed to make things better. As with them, it has done quite the opposite. Tweek was the first and only boy Craig has dated. Their love came out of organically, it’s authentic. Tweek would always try his best not to blame Craig for the wet dreams he had for Stan. Until eighth grade, Craig found himself actually lusting after him and Tweek found out.

The images pull back to Stan again. As expected in real life, the kiss turned out to be a clumsy spit-filled disaster. Moreover, Craig couldn’t take his mind off of it and his taste. Craig was scaring himself with the dirty thoughts materializing in his head again. It wouldn’t even be the fact either that Stan, just like Tweek, was the next best thing to a girl, without actually being a girl. But finding out that he could be gay was unlike any news Craig had heard in this realm.

A week ago. They kissed. They actually kissed and it was for real. It wasn’t like any practical joke, like how two middle-aged straight men parodied themselves in a B-list movie. Or, an accidental fall like any cliché anime Craig has ever seen. Their mouths touched and he was okay with it. Stan was okay with it too.

What made it even worse was despite the teeth knocking and all the spit… Craig really liked it. Someone took charge for once. As bold as Tweek could be, Tweek would still battle with his insecurities and could be a bit of a shrinking violet. It was both a universal and well-known fact that shyness took more kindness, patience, and empathy. Much like watering a plant, Tweek needed a lot of attention and nurturing. That was how intimacy developed for them.

Yet, with Stan, he was so pushy and assertive. So forceful, just like Craig dreamt he’d be. Not too strong, but it was the right kind where he could still overpower him. If Tweek had that kind of control Craig would be a lot more satisfied with what they have. While what Stan pulled the other day wasn't flawless, Craig found it amusing that they were at the same wavelength for once. Like they were linked by some force out there. It was daunting. Touching Stan felt natural. From being creeped out by it and repulsed about it for many years, this has been a bittersweet and enlightening revelation for Craig. Never will he ever voice that It was ultimately impressed by Stan being so reckless that day. 

A little part of Craig wanted to see how far his classmate would go on his gay escapades. To overpower him. For research purposes, of course. The idea of Stan experimenting with him suddenly sounded hot to him. But then, for Craig’s sake, he needed to keep one foot on the ground. Craig knew for sure that his feelings for the other eleventh grader were just happy chemicals released in the center of his head, and no sloppy kisses were ever going to tear him apart from his loving boyfriend. The last time Craig has checked, Stan was angry with him when he had seen him. This whole closeted thing would be Stan's own battle. He was glad it ended there. 

A scattered group of birds flew over the telephone line. Clyde maneuvered to the far end of the street holding the baseball. His red chucks sunk to the half-melted snow of a stranger’s lawn.

“Catch!” shouted Clyde.  

The baseball shot many meters up in the air above Craig’s head. Clyde groaned and sagged his shoulders when Craig stayed still and the ball rolled far behind him, landing on the Marsh’s property.

“Hey. Nice throw,” jested Token, “better go get that.”

“Nah, I’m not getting it. You get it.”

“No, you get it.”

The boys walked ahead of Craig.

Rolling his eyes before he turned to one side, the leader of the group ascended forward to Stan’s front yard. Craig’s long fingers poked through the blades of grass at the edge of the home after the ball rolled far from the driveway. When he raised himself again, something had caught his eye. With one hand placed on the glass window, Craig pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. Craig finished recording his video and made it back to the duo slowly.

Clyde smiled before Craig bumped into his back.

“Did’ja get the ball, Craig?” he asked.

Craig pulled his phone down from his view and placed the baseball in his friend’s mitt. After doing so, and an about-face, his own home would be his destination again. The other boys centered him with a confused look.  

“Um, hey Craig, where ya goin’?”

“Back.” Craig closed his fists with his phone in hand.

“But we just…” Clyde’s mouth wiggled. 

Token placed his hand on his shoulder. “Let him go, man.”

 

* * *

  
  
At his walk back to the house, Craig pulled his phone down and replayed the video he captured from Stan’s house. The chill of the wind entered his home. He wiped the snow off his feet on the welcome mat and raised his finger to his mother who was on the phone.

Through the low murmurs of HSN playing in the background, Laura raised her middle-finger affectionately back at Craig when he closed the front door and hung his coat on the hook.  

The daily chores were easily put aside after his nap. Craig walked to the desk in his room and brought a journal out from the drawer. He flipped through the ink-worn handwritten pages of the book until he reached the end.

Shoving the book to the very far end of the drawer, Craig ripped out the vacuum-sealed plastic of a newer book where he could jot down his thoughts.

Right after he finished going through the blank pages of the book, he cleared the desk of the keyboard and its clutter. A black pen was grabbed from the pencil holder. Craig clicked the top, gripped it, and began neatly at the first page:

_My name is Craig Tucker._

* * *

 

The first spin cycle of the washer machine began in front of Craig after he finished pouring in the laundry soap. Beneath the gentle swish of the water, the vibrant color of his star speckled bedspread was beginning to fade. It will be time again soon for Craig to buy a new bed-set, as those were his favorite sheets, and the quality of the ones there have begun to deteriorate with each wash.

Balancing his phone in hand, Craig pressed the folder thumbnail on the screen. The silent movie played on the screen. A poorly recorded four-second video of his classmate gripping his junk through his jeans.

Through the graininess, there was a bit of an outline of Stan’s dick. Though, it would never replace the time Craig captured Stan dressing through the reflection of a mirror in the hockey stadium’s locker room when he visited Clyde.

As there’d be naked jocks surrounding them all the time, being active South Park, Colorado, Stan would be the only naked boy worth glancing at twice. Clyde had a beautiful body too. He was well-built. Copper tanned. Had dimples and an amazing ass. But he didn’t quite attract Craig the way his kid rival did. Stan was more of a proscribed delicacy. Maybe it was the fact that Stan being ‘straight’ and unattainable and that's what made him more attractive. As time had developed, Craig had noticed that there had been a devious side to his gayness, but then that could just be hot air. Still, he would entertain the thought longer of turning the other boy out. Craig needed to rebuke them. It should and would remain just that, a fantasy.

Erasing the shape of Stan’s dick from his head would be a good start. As for the video he's recorded, it's done its job. Craig closed the washer lid and deleted it.

 

* * *

  
The ride to school was all but a lonely one.

On that same day, Craig caught up with Token and Clyde at school. They ate breakfast and migrated to his locker after they hung out with more classmates at the gymnasium. Only five minutes until the first bell would ring. That, being unfortunate for him and hardly grabbing his interest, now the town’s rumors were spreading all over the math hall.

“I heard Jason’s a Satanist now,” Clyde said.

“Nah-ah. No way. That’s so hardcore, dude.” Cartman butted in, holding the strap of his backpack and his phone in his other hand.

Token kept his peace before replying while Craig placed his own phone in his pocket.   

“I heard he sacrificed his cousin in there too,” the wealthy boy added, “at the church.”

Cartman guffawed. “Nah-ah! Shut up, Token!”

Fully facing the other direction with his back still turned, Craig twisted the lock combination. Finally hooking the door open, he gathered all he needed for English class and placed his book and binder in one arm. His locker had been taped with mostly pictures of Tweek, holographic stickers, and their pet Stripe. Craig pulled out a camera and placed it around his neck. It wasn’t his Canon, but it would do nicely for him. He adjusted the lens with his head down.

“Okay, what are you guys going on about?” Kyle came in, slightly bugged by the commotion of his peers. Butters dragged himself along, walking in second.

“Guess what, dudes…” Cartman announced. 

While he spoke, Craig took a long glance at him while the group that huddled around him. It grew bigger.  Through a blur of people passing by, he could easily make out Stan across the hall. The dark-haired boy leaned down to drink the chilled liquid from the water fountain next to the vending machines.

When Stan was finished sipping, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His worked his jaw and he parted his lips when his piercing blues captured Craig’s flinty greens. With an awkward fidget in his stance, Stan turned his head sharply and quickly stormed off. Face bright red, he bumped into one of the faculty members in a suit and then took the wrong turn toward a trashcan.

The ninth-grade girls giggled at the football captain as he dusted himself off and rounded toward the corner of the hall. Joining his clumsy friend, Kenny waggled his eyebrows throwing his arm around his neck. Craig narrowed his eyes while Clyde shook his shoulder.  

 

* * *

 

An entire nervous wreck, Stan’s not-so-innocent glances would cast toward Craig during English class, gym, chemistry. Even at lunchtime his focus was completely unyielding, stretched out to Craig. To say individually in the least, Craig wasn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. That was just Stan. An 'over the top, whiny douchebag that didn’t know how to get along with everyone'. Craig wondered how long this gay secret thing could go around for Stan. He looked like a kid at the end of the baseball bench that wanted to take his swing at the ball with a bat. Only, it’d be anxiety that Stan was compressing. The leg bounces from when he sat didn't help either. 

Craig knew Stan couldn’t get it out of his mind either. The kiss they shared. Rather with Stan, Craig would rather leave things alone, act as if nothing happened at all. Life will be in the right order soon and restored to its rightful order. As long as they know how kept their mouths shut, everything will be just fine.

 _Don't make eye contact this time. Just don’t say anything. Don’t even look at him,_ Craig said in his head during gym class.

He ducked his head and hid behind a crowd of other guys in the locker room.

At the sound of the final bell, Craig was ready to call it a day. Still no sign of Tweek. The wild-haired blond must have been giving him the silent treatment again.

Craig wasn’t all too sure or in too much of a hurry to blow up his boyfriend’s phone. His paycheck for tutoring lessons was slid under the hole in the glass window at the student finance building. Craig folded the paper and stuff it in his jacket pocket.

It was only Monday. Now, to survive the rest of the week.

He turned around slowly. Lazy eyes roam upward. Stan was now standing a foot away from him.

“Ah, hey, can we talk?” the jock asked him directly.

“No.” Craig stepped back and started toward the door with the exit sign.     

Stan caught it before it swung closed. “Craig, come on, dude.”

When they headed outside, the grass was barely peeking through the snow. The yellow buses were lined at the side of the school again.

“I’m avoiding you,” Craig said.  

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” said Stan sardonically before his voice recovered. “Craig, come on. I just need to know somethin’ real fast. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

The locks under the windows in the Prius were undone loudly.

Craig stepped forward.

Stan grabbed the edge of the car door and closed it before Craig climbed in.

“Dude, what the fuck—”

“Sorry dude, I know. If you can just — five minutes? This’ been chewin’ me up all week.” Stan’s forehead wrinkled. “Please?”

“Why?”

“I can’t say it here.” The noiret in the beanie stuck his thumbs in his pockets. “You know when we kissed in you ro—”

 _Shit._ Craig’s irises dart over to Stan while he cataloged the data in his head.

Tweek was angry with him, being seen with Stan was the last image he wanted his boyfriend to absorb if he were to ever so emerge from the art building. Always being the center of attention, Stan also had a huge mouth. They needed to bury it. What they did needs to be in the past.  

“’Kay, do you need a ride?” he offered lamely.

_Yep. Because that’s a great idea. Hey, I have dirty thoughts about you, and it’s ruining my relationship. Let me take you home._

The sarcasm inside didn’t help. Craig held his car door weakly.  

 “Oh wow, you mean you’ll actually. Really?” Stan’s smile of relief grew. “Oh my god.”  

“Get in.”

 

* * *

 

The subject would be a sensitive one for Stan to approach.

The smile he wore rubbed off fast. Both boys were neither in the mood to jumpstart the conversation, but it would be mandatory for them and it would be the whole point of the car ride. Stan watched the buildings go by while Craig took a shortcut that lead to his address. Craig wouldn't have to ask. Everyone knew where Stan lived. His father Randy was the ‘village idiot’.  

“So, I guess you know where this is going.” Stan looked out the window. “What you overheard from me that day in church, it’s all true.”

Craig’s face remains smooth with an unreadable passivity.

“I’m gay,” The voice that admitted that was crestfallen, “but not as gay as you are.”

Craig’s eyes rounded before they glazed over.

“Just as gay as me,” he said.

“Yeah, you know, like a flamer.”

The Prius slowed to the front of Stan’s house.

Not to waste any more gas, Craig turned the key, just in case Stan had anything more to add. The comment was laid out so casual. They reached Stan’s house early. Craig would be gone before their friends would notice him there.  

Stan breathed out. “You know, when you blocked me, I was kinda scared you’d tell Clyde and the guys... There’s just no way I’d be as gay as you. No offense.”

“Wow.” That, being the only response Craig could muster.

“I mean, yeah. I mean, I always thought if I’d ever be as gay as that kid, I don’t know what I’d do. I'd probably kill myself. Having the whole town watching me and judging me. It's already pressure as it is winning all the games .”

“And so. You actually thought that I, Craig Tucker, would be disgusting enough to let our friends know that you’re gay.”   

“Well, yeah,” Stan said in his ‘to put it bluntly’ tone.

The disrespect in the response rubbed Craig the wrong way instantly. It was intentional. A very low blow to his manhood, having to deal with Stan’s impertinence. Now greatly feeling great anger that he ever felt sorry for him, the noiret at the driver’s seat squinted his eyes.

 _All right. I’ll stoop to your level,_ Craig echoed in his head grimly. 

 _“Well,_ if you’re wondering if I’ll tell everyone you’re gay... I’d say from now you’ve got about two or three…”

It was a complete 180 from what Craig thought the car ride was going to be, but Stan was cocky, harsh, obnoxious. He would deserve it.

“Two or three what?”

Craig waited for the light to turn green again.

“Two or three what?” repeated the jock, slightly more anxious. “Craig, please say you’re fucking with me right now.”

That would be why Stan ever took the chance to talk to him. So, he could keep that side of him under wraps and never have it mentioned again.  

“Wish I was.”

“Whatever, screw off.”

Stan pulled the seatbelt away from his shoulder and chest. The week just started and Stan would already have to add another person in his list to avoid permanently. The whole Wendy thing, and now having to deal with his classmate, Craig. But then, Stan wouldn’t have to think that way. Today wasn’t going to be ruined by him, Stan was going to put his foot down.

“Honestly, you can go ahead and tell,” continued Stan. “I’m not scared. It’s not like the rest of the world would care anyway if it comes from you.”

Craig mouthed a toothpick he grabbed from his pocket earlier.  

“And who knows?” Stan would ramble more. “Maybe you _are_ an abusive prick like everyone says. It’s no wonder Tweek can’t stand you anymore.”

The other boy remains silent, solid in his space like a rock.

“Fuck you, dude. You’re a bitch, and your dick is probably small.”

There. Another lesson for him learned. It was a mistake for Stan to ever open up to Craig. With his phone stuffed in his pocket, he turned away.

“Goodbye, gaywad,” Stan finished.

The reach for the door wasn’t a success.

Stan’s eyes widened when he was grabbed and pinned hard to his chair.

A light thud when the seat rumbled behind him. Craig was seeing red. The color misting his eyes, like Toro the Bull. The stick from Craig’s mouth was gone. Stan’s shirt was wrenched in his two hands. No real threat, there. Craig could never be Shelly.

“Don’t you ever mention Tweek.” Craig gritted through his teeth.   

Completely unphased, Stan narrowed his eyes more while his shirt was lifted in Craig’s hands.

“Don’t you ever let me catch his name flying out of your filthy mouth again.”

“Right, because you’ll put me in my place if I say do.” The jock retorted, equal acid in his tone.

“That’s exactly what the fuck I’ll do.”

“Go fuck yourself, Craig.”

Craig’s cologne hits his nose. It was sickening how someone so abrasive could smell so good at the same time. They were nearly a few heart skips away. Stan felt his cock harden traitorously.

“Ironic, that you have me pinned underneath you. You must like unprocessed meat since my mouth is so dirty,” Stan added, still bruised by the comeback that paralleled him.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I will, once you admit that you’re doing this as an excuse to touch me.” Stan felt his jeans tighten somewhat, regretting himself for ever existing. “That’s not how flirting works, Craig _._ It’d kind of help if you said you liked me first.”

Sure, he could push the envelope some more with Craig. A little high and a bit suicidal, Stan would take those risks. The street was completely void and silent, Stan had the time. Rather Craig was going to pound his face in or not, that would be up to him. Stan seemed eager to push this even more. He hasn’t been told to shut up yet. Maybe he was the one flirting.

“Did you think I’d just forget what you said in your room?”

As it would be a personal thing, not a dominance thing, Craig didn’t break eye-contact.  

“Your own words. You technically said you’d fuck me.”   

Craig’s gaze remains level and direct, his eyes cold as steel.   

“You asked me ‘when’.”  Stan ignored the soft scowl, the way Craig’s nose wrinkled. “Did you think I’d forget?”

To this point now, Stan didn’t care if he sounded ‘straight’ or not. Either two things were going to happen. He was going to get the bloody pulp beaten out of him, or Craig will shove him out the door. As strange as things have been between him and Craig, Stan has started noticing their tension more and more. It could be that it had nothing to do with competition at all, or rivaly. There was heat there. They had zero witnesses as of now. No one else would bare his words. So anything completely random, Stan is okay with the words flying from his mouth. It’d be so easy to cover up and say he’s drunk. It would be the very last resort. 

“You’re responsible for whatever bullshit you take out of context,” Craig said vehemently, towering over him. “Don’t you fucking forget. It was you, who slobbered on me, first.”

“Yeah,” Stan breathed, zoned out by the lips above him, “but did you hate it?”

The question was meant to bait him. Quite magnificently, it reeled Craig in. 

Craig’s mouth slanted against his.

He kissed Stan evenly, rougher, as the seconds progressed.

Their mouths making contact was the only sound in the car. Stan parted his lips, turning his tongue over his. Years of practicing with their firsts have served both of them kindly.

Craig wasn’t going to admit it. Stan may actually have the upper hand, wading between different girlfriends, and then back to Wendy over the years.

As for Stan, kissing was one of the most magnificent things he became comfortable sharing because he’d put his heart in it every time. It used to matter if he did it with someone special or not. That philosophy was trashed the minute he threw his class ring on the floor.

Stan didn’t think it was possible, but it had been Craig that made him feel more infinitely than alive than he’s ever been in a matter of seconds. No teeth knocking this time, just mouths and tongues exploring.

 _Holy shit,_ he said in his mind.

 _What just happened?_ Stan echoed in his own.

This was a pleasantly different surprise. He’s never had another guy circle his arms around his waist for that long, maybe just Kenny.  Stan was slumped back with his hands gripping the back of Craig’s shoulders.

The regret piled on fast. “Fuck… Fuck.”

Stan’s eyes widened when the other male cursed under his breath in front of him.

“You better get going,” Craig relented, “people might see us.”

“I know.”

“Stan, I’m really fucking serious. I have a boyfriend.”

“I know, Craig.”

Shame weighed Craig down again. “Fuck.”

“I won’t tell anyone, okay? This’ll be our little secret.”

“No, no secrets. This can’t happen again.” Craig moved back to his chair.  “If Tweek finds out, I’ll have more things to worry about than just a broken laptop. We can’t do this.” 

“Okay, then it won’t happen anymore,” Stan said simply when he opened the car door. “I’ll see you at school. Thanks for sharing this with me.”

That was all Stan wanted. To have another chance to kiss a boy. Of them all, it had to be Craig. For sure now, Stan knew that he liked kissing guys. Or, maybe he just liked kissing Craig. From their first passionate make out, he wasn’t so sure. Whatever it was, Stan was sure that this confirmed that there were better experiences for him out there.

The noiret in the beanie rose from his seat again. Stan dropped when Craig snatched his arm. Stan felt himself being pulled forward. Craig licked against his parted lips and teased with a coaxing gentleness before Stan sank to the chair again, accepting his tongue. It was a lot different when another guy took the lead. He wasn't angry. For this specific moment, he rolled with it. 

Remembering they were in plain sight and that any neighborhood watch adult could report to the other parents, Craig begrudgingly pried the other boy off of him. He turned the key in his ignition and looked at his mirror.

“Tomorrow at my house.” Craig’s cheeks heated. “Come study with me.”

“I can’t do that.” Face equally pink, Stan took his phone back from Craig. “I already switched to Kyle.”

“You have my number. Figure it out, douchebag.”

The black ice sloshed in the road while Craig drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, heya guys! So, I hope you all enjoyed that. It's been another rough couple of weeks for me, but I hope it's worth the teehees I'll get from here. Or not, lol. Please share your thoughts. uwu That would be greatly encouraged. Fingies crossed that there aren't any typos. I'm pooped. Will update notes later on and the summary. xx


	13. Kerosene Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Stan and Craig conquer their current worst fears._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit babey! 100k words, FINALLY! And yeah. So, hey. Another hefty update. I really hope the wait was worth it. I'm sorry for being so late again. Please enjoy the chapter!

_February, 2 years ago_

Stan gripped Craig’s sweater tighter while he was snuggly pressed against him on a twin-sized mattress. Their slick mouths fused with excellent ease and the world ceased to exist, frozen in the pitch-black depths behind their eyelids. They dropped to the star blankets of Craig's bed. The tips of their tongues barreled and tipped gracefully as the pair settled over the comforter after falling over it.

Wrists pinned to each side of his head, Stan welcomed damp lips caressing and suckling over the hollow spot of his neck. It was a low point for each of them. The result of an unspoken contract. Temporary, but satisfying. Desire and curiosity is what spurred them on.

A soft gasp left Stan when Craig sucked greedily at his pulse point. Craig knew he should stop while he was ahead, yet, felt compelled to deliver more. Their faces align again, his lips crashing down over Stan’s parted ones. A pale hand grazed the back of Craig’s neck, drawing him in near, as close to him as can be. 

Craig rested on his forearms, applying his mouth to the other boy’s, kissing back more furiously. When Stan's grip behind him weakens, Craig pulled himself up. Both inhaled the air between them. The noiret below opened his eyes slowly, blissfully trapped in his school mate’s arms. Wrong. It felt so wrong. Stan didn't want to think about what the odds were. Someone was holding him and at that moment, he didn't care who, as long as it wasn't Eric Cartman. Anyone but him. Pretty much, that would be the excuse for Stan.   

“And that’s how you really kiss," announced the teen in the blue hat. 

“It’s definitely different than kissing girls.” Stan arose while Craig brought himself on his hip.

The smartphone was taken from the nightstand.

“Better,” Craig said over him.

“Different,” Stan corrected.

Although he sounded a bit like a skeptic in his tone, the jock’s actions confirmed he enjoyed it more than just a little bit. In his hand, Stan checked his own phone. A few notifications from Cartman here and there, and some from Kenny. Clyde wanted to confirm if he was still going to the big party at Jenny's house; one of the cheerleaders. If she's on the team, then that meant that Bebe would be there, which meant Wendy would also be attending with her new girlfriend Heidi. 

The sound of Craig's keypad was an earshot away. Hardly distracting. At the screen of his phone, Stan’s eyes hooded at the merry promise of ‘horny chicks and booze’. Stan would happily take one thing over the other. By that, he would mean, just the booze. A few red cups and he’d be ready to call it a night.

Craig peeked, lying on his side beside Stan. “Clyde texted you too.”  

“Yeah...” Stan averted his gaze, voice floating softly. “Craig, can I ask you something?”

The other boy perched his chin in his palm. Craig blinked, awaiting Stan’s response.  

With his phone on his stomach, the quarterback approached the question carefully. “Do you really think we fight as much as people say we do?”

“To be honest, I don’t really notice it.”  

“That’s fair,” Stan lied. His eyes wandered down from the ceiling. “…Dude, what’s gonna happen to us?”

The emotion of that sentence felt sudden. “Well, I don’t know about you…” Craig started, unconcerned.

“Dude, it’s not a joke. Next year we’re gonna be seniors. We gotta take ourselves seriously.”

“Are you always this tense on a daily basis?”

“No. I just don’t want us to be known as those guys that hate each other. If, that’s even gonna be the last memory of us.”

The noiret in the beanie would lose himself to deep thought again. He'd ask himself, what he was doing there again when he could actually be studying. Of all people, Craig Tucker. There were other gay boys in town if he looked hard enough, Stan was sure of it. What possessed Craig to invite him in his home to make-out with him, Stan didn’t want to think too much of it. If there was a hidden agenda from him, he would have already detected it already.

They were both in the same room for their own selfish reasons. It had nothing to do with liking one another. At least, for Stan. To create anything substantial with what they’ve done physically, would be even worse than committing suicide.  Terribly nonsensical. The only chance of them going any further than this would have to be on a sloppy drunk night for Stan. In order for that to occur, his sanity would have to be close to none. He would just have to be at an incredibly vulnerable mood. 

While Stan was in deep thought about their false potential and his own dilemmas, Craig was slightly offed that his classmate would let his guard down in such a way. He had forgotten how sensitive Stan could be at times. Sometimes he felt that he would overdo it. As it would be, Cartman would usually cancel out the good qualities for Stan as well as his other friends. It had been somewhat pleasing for Craig to see what Stan had to say without the prickly input of Kyle Broflovski. 

“I don’t see why any of it would matter,” Craig said truthfully before adding, “It’s high school, Stan. We graduate, work, hope to move out, and then we pray that we never have to see each other’s faces again.”

The word ‘but’ was at the tip of Stan’s tongue. He slipped off the edge of the bed, sliding on his shoes. Without the energy to contend, Stan would just leave it at that.

“I guess you’re right. We should be more realistic.”

The door would be his next destination, when the low-spirited boy felt Craig snag his wrist and jerk him toward the bed.

Before Stan could barely process anything, Craig’s mouth crashed over his again. The teen in the beanie reached out, cupping the sides of Craig’s face. Mouth parted in an artful manner, Stan accepted another brush of a tongue. On his way down, he tugged on the flaps of Craig’s hat while his mouth sank to his. He sucked on his top lip, pinned underneath him again. Deliciously defeated, Craig stirred and returned with another hot and heavy gesture, sucking on Stan's tongue just as he had done the first time to him. 

 _Too much… No._ Stan accepted another kiss, and another. _If he wanted out, he would’ve said something._ _It’s just kissing..._   _That's all we're doing, we're just kissing._

There’d be no stopping him now. It felt like he was having the poison drained from him. His sadness provisionally sucked away. Besides that taking place, Stan was more scared of how his body was reacting. 

 _Dude, you have a boner,_ Stan realized. 

Stan knew Craig was hard. His groin dragged against the center of his jeans. Almost intentional-like. Craig would be the first and foremost to complain first if a person rubbed him the wrong way, quite literally, but it was the fact that Craig was the one initiating everything, was an eye-opener to Stan. Their crotches touched again, he said nothing. The rule of no hands below the hips, in the trash. There had been accidental touches here and there, and they didn't seem to mind.  

Certainly, there would be no need to bring it up. It was just a part of transitioning to manhood. There'd be nothing to say. As their forefathers have declared in their redneck mountain town many decades ago, talking is for women. Quite strongly, it was the way of their kin. Not that their old ways interested Stan and Craig one bit, but it would still hold some influence over them. Over the years, the town had progressed and evolved politically. Among their peers, sexism was still a thing they grapple with. Feelings were for girls. And it would be as simple as that. 

To an extent, Stan didn't expect to be pressed up against his classmate like this. They've been so engrossed in what they were doing, Stan hadn't expected to be overpowered and pinned down another time. 

Craig nearly flinched when a brown spider landed square on his shoulder.  “Shit. Let me roll up a magazine or something.”

“I got it,” Stan closed his hand over the eight-legged fiend. “You don’t have to kill it.”

A less thread on the quilt was being picked in Craig's hand while he waited. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now, buddy,” he overheard Stan whisper to it.  

After sliding open a curtain and closing the window behind him, Stan joined Craig on his mattress again. The athlete hadn't noticed how clean and organized his room was, compared to his own. All of Craig's books were alphabetized, there were no clothes poking out from his drawers. But also, at the same time, it was nice that they have chosen his house instead.

At this hour, Shelly would have Kenny's brother over. Stan didn't think he could fathom being more upset at the sight of more happy couples, let alone be a third wheel around his own sister. His vision would be blighted at the mere image of them kissing. Enlongating his company with Craig was the best move of the night for Stan. No friends to complain about him dampening up their mood. And more time to tinker with his fluid sexuality. So far, it has been disturbingly delightful. 

 

* * *

 

They lie down and kissed slower than last time. Their lips sought and familiarized itself with each new stroke and caress of their tongues. Both each hot and humbly acquainted. With all afternoon to explore, the pair had gotten used to their physical meeting rather fast. Ideally, Stan had been more hands on. To differentiate this between a nightmare and fantasy clashed with Craig's ethics.    

Stan lets his hand slip from Craig’s grip when he brought himself up from the bed. 

“It’s getting late,” the teen in the beanie commented, lethargy kicking in.

Seeing that the bedroom was significantly darker before and most of the daylight has descended from the window, Craig leaned over to his nightstand and switched on the lamp. Communication was still stilted with them. Craig couldn't imagine making them official, even if he was over-the-moon for Stan. Clearly, he had an obsession of hating him for a few years, but it would just be because of Stan's self-imposed bad luck and his need to be right all the time. 

Craig was still bent over. With his head still bowed, he assessed the shape of the rear in front of him. Stan’s jeans have always been inexplicably tight since freshman year. It would be easy to map out what was under there if anyone had the time. The thought of his bulge from the other day made his face and ears blaze with color. Stan turned around swift enough to make the other teen jerk up stiffly. There’d been that urge to reach out to Stan and grab it. Craig swallowed audibly while the other student glanced forward at him.

“It’s okay. You can grab it if you want,” prompted Stan.

Craig’s cheeks flamed at his own immoral disadvantage.

“I’m not gonna get mad.”

The bed shook when Stan flopped over it once more on his belly. An unexpected smile appeared against Stan's folded arms while his classmate’s fingers grazed over the material of his thigh then stopped to grope a generous handful of his backside. This would be a bit much, unseemly. Maybe Stan is as self-absorbed as the cheerleaders say. Misery devoured him whole, he could use some attention.  

“What do you think?” asked Stan. 

A few pats and the other gentleman released his hand. 

“It’s nice,” Craig said without thinking.

Neither one of them were up for rationalizing. For, their judgment would be reserved for another day. Things were getting too comfortable for them again. As it would be the sensible thing to break it off and resume life as quickly as possible. Stan was to add something to say, but the sound of car doors being shut interrupts him. The lights came on in the upstairs hall and spilled through the bottom crack of Craig's door. A shadow of a pair of legs stretched over the carpeting of the bedroom.

The male in the chullo raised himself on his bed with a neutral disposition on his complexion.

Tricia pushed open his door, gripping the knob.

“We've got dinner,” she spoke. "Mom says to wash up."

Relaxed in his spot, Craig gave a curt nod to his sister before she gave him the bird and shuts the door.  Craig looked down at the floor before he got up and lingered toward the sliding door of his closet. Stan had his back pressed against the wall, playing an Adult Swim game on his phone.

“Coast is clear?” Stan stuffed the phone in his hoodie pocket. 

"Yep." Craig pulled himself up from leaning forward. "They're at the dining room. You should get moving now, don't forget your coat." 

 

* * *

 

The bid farewell wasn’t difficult at all for Stan. There wasn’t a kiss or a hug like how it used to be with Wendy, but he would survive. His heart had been hollow prior to visiting Craig. As for them, they are still merely classmates; as it would be and should be. Kissing was just something that brought them together. There were other similar things that they enjoyed, but things will return to normal soon. At least, that’s what each of them had said to themselves, and they would usually be right. It was a weird town. 

When the door closed Stan turned his back and looked up. New snowfall settled over his beanie and shoulders. He stared ahead forlornly at the houses ahead and then at the ice-powdered ground before making it around the corner of the street through faded footsteps.

 

* * *

 

The television was at a low volume in the background of the Marsh household.

Shrouded in the darkness of the kitchen, Stan lets the light of the fridge pour over his face and torso when he opened it. He kneeled forward inspecting the glass Tupperware dishes in front of him. As none of the casseroles in the glass containers looked appetizing at the moment, Stan grabbed a jug of milk and settled with a cold bowl of Frosted Flakes.

In his pajamas, he sat alone on the couch with his legs folded in. The energy of the house was a bit different without the family there. As that be a given, it had been nice talking idly over useless things with his dad while slicing into the Salisbury steak, albeit Randy getting on his nerves about most things at times. His company would halfway be worthwhile, no matter how uncomfortable he made Stan feel in front of his friends. Possibly, that would be a stretch, but it beat feeling alone and having that sinking feeling inside. 

Thoughts navigate back to Wendy and his friends while Stan shoveled more cereal in his mouth. Between feeling like a failure and a burden, things have gotten gloomier when he sagged in his seat. His life flashed in his head. Be grateful. That, he should be. There'd be no one to communicate with this to. Going to the doctors would feel like a sham. Any licensed therapist would tell Stan that he has accomplished most things in life that most kids haven't. He is the star of his school, he's been the captain of the football team every year, he dated the girl of his dreams. Life was good.   

 _Then why do I still feel like shit?_ he cried in his head. _Why is everything still shitty?_

 _Don’t cry. It’s just a chemical imbalance in your head,_ he attempted to assure himself. _It’s just a chemical imbalance… you’ll get over it._

Stan choked on his own struggling breath while the stinging tears flowed down his colorless cheeks. Nose closed and chest on fire. More tears welled in his eyes and dripped on his shirt. The shadow of his bangs floats over his forehead while the TV flashed in front of him. Still, in the privacy of his own home, Stan couldn’t help but feel vulnerable to such emotions. As if, anyone could pop in at any moment and torment him for not being masculine enough.

The phone on his lap vibrated, breaking him away from his thoughts.

_God, I’ll give anything to be invisible…_

He would continue to pile on more cereal in his spoon, disregarding the text. Naturally, it’d be his usual friends or Jimmy who had terrible news about school or a show. Stan was in no mood to answer any of them at all. His mouth was at the rim of the bowl when he finished drinking the milk. A lone tear splashed on his pajama pants. The image of Frankenstein on the television went fuzzy in his watering eyes. The empty cereal bowl was placed on the end table. 

_I'm so exhausted, I'm so sick and tired of trying..._

The device buzzed one more time. Through the water of his eyes, Stan glanced downward at the latest text he received. He pulled himself up on the sofa and rubbed his face with the back of his hand. Stan rubbed his nose with his arm with his legs brought up to his chest. The message at the top his lock screen grabbed him. It was from Craig. 

_{Goodnight.}_

"..."

 

* * *

 

Daylight broke from the clouds in the misty sky. Behind Craig, his two regular friends joined up behind him at the busy street of their two, a few footsteps away. Bright balloons made of foil with curly string float above their heads grasped in Clyde’s hand. Tucked under Craig’s arm was a box of chocolates in a heart-shaped box, a fancy envelope, and a single rose.     

“Wouldn’t you rather surprise him later at dinner?” Token suggested, slowing his pace.

“No,” Craig said.

“It is a bit early.” Clyde agreed when the light on the street changed and they made it down the crosswalk. “Why don’t you send a text to him or something.”

Token skipped on a new sidewalk. “Then, it wouldn’t be a surprise, dumbass.” 

“We should probably turn back,” the brunet forewarned anxiously.

“Yeah, we should,” advised Token.  

One final turn at that street. They were where they needed to be. Clyde gave Token a worried look before glancing back at his best friend. The glass door was shoved in front of them. At the chime of the bell, Tweek peered up from the cash register. Horror struck him with miniature shocks of electricity. Tweek barely flinched. While gaping at his boyfriend Craig, the goth across from him slipped his hands away from Tweek’s on the counter.

“Oh man.” Clyde swallowed.

Pete brought himself up and hazarded a gaze at his friend Michael. The stool he sat on tipped to the floor. The heavy aroma of baked goods and freshly brewed coffee lingered in the store’s corner, offending the three’s nostrils.

“Craig, what are you doing here?” Tweek asked unblinkingly, voice vibrating.

Just as the blond feared, his boyfriend stalked over to him swiftly without much regard to the public around him. Baring his gums, Craig snatched Pete by the collar of his shirt and Michael jolted up from his booth. Firkle shot from his spot from behind but was instantly blocked by the tall goth’s arm.

“Don’t hit him,” the blond pleaded gruffly. “Craig, please, don’t hit him.”

Without preamble, the noiret snapped back. “Why the hell are they here?”

“What do you mean why they’re here?” Tweek balled his fists. “What the fuck do you mean, Craig?” He breathed. “They’re my friends.”

“Why were you holding his hand?!”

“Craig, I really think we should just leave it alone for now.” Clyde pressed his hands together. “You’re frightening all the other customers.”

"Yeah, dude, chill," Token mumbled. 

“Like I give a fuck,” said the voice above Pete. The grip on his dress shirt tightened.

“Clyde’s right, you’re overreacting. Can you not be a hypocrite for a second?!” Tweek bellowed, gripping the air in his clawed fingers.

“No Tweek, this is different. You said you wouldn’t see him anymore. You betrayed my trust.”  

“He’s my friend,” defended the barista. “If we want to hold hands, we can do that. Now let go, you’re hurting him. Let him go, Craig!”  

Other people in nearby tables craned their necks and gawked at the commotion ahead of them. One of the kids who would be their age brought out his phone camera. Craig’s eyes dart away from the male’s direction before he shoved Pete forcefully to the floor. A group of women in the coffee shop gasped behind them, except Henrietta who was boiling in her seat. Her cheeks were rosy through her pale makeup.

Tweek knelt to aid the other male that was on the ground, draping his arm over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed threateningly. Before Craig could fathom to stare back at him, he seized toward the exit. Both Token and Clyde were rudely shoved by their leader best-friend. The glass door slammed loudly, making the welcome sign crooked.

“Well, there goes our ride,” Clyde commented, pleasantly handing over the group of balloons to the blond. “These are for you, Tweek.”  

"Thanks." 

"It's his fault for making a scene." Pete dusted himself off before facing Tweek. "Don't beat yourself up over it. You deserve so much better." 

Token watched Craig zoom off in his Prius through the glass window.

He sighed. “I’ll get us an Uber.”  

 

* * *

 

No one wanted to be single during Valentine’s Day in South Park.

Even the toughest of all the young men set out to find dates for that special day. The calendar for the big day would be marked in advanced. Most husbands would cater to their wives with lavish gifts that would rival ones from their anniversaries.

As for Stan this year, he was content that he didn’t have to spend any money. He and his friends… they’ve always been a bit different. Back pats and hugs from there. It was good to have him ‘back’.

Within an exception of Butters with his glue guns and paper mache hearts. In this particular year, they ventured off to the main bridge of the town from their houses with a cold case of beer. It would just be them and their favorite music. Arms folded over the thick rim of the bridge, the group of four along with Butters stared into the dark surface of the water with their heads bowed.

Stan stuck his tongue out while Kenny wagged his. They watched the blobs of spit that fell from their mouths and get snatched by the wind. Wiping his chin with his hand the noiret had a victory smirk stretched across his youthful face. Kenny bent upward as well and wiped his lip.

“That’s two out of three, Kenny. Mines fell faster,” said Stan.

“Huh?” The blond did a double-take, muffled behind his coat now. “Dude, what’re you talking about? Mines so dropped faster than yours.”

“I don’t make the rules. That’s just how the game goes.”

Kyle breathed vapor through his lips and kept his chin nestled against his arms. Cartman continued his text, scratching his hair underneath his beanie.

Stan propped himself up on his elbow. “So, whose fell faster, Cartman?”  

Chubby thumbs moved swiftly over the glowing screen of his iPhone. A hearty chuckle from Cartman. White puffs emit from the brunet’s mouth. Kyle rolled his eyes, slanting his lips. While awaiting the response, Stan blinked.

“Cartman?” he called again.

Without peeling his eyes away from the screen, Cartman spoke up. “Um, eh, Kenny.”

“Woohoo!” Gloved fists jut in the air. The blond twisted and did a victory pose in his spot next to Butters.

“Whatever. You weren’t even looking.”

“Eh.” A careless shrug was tossed back at Stan by the heavyset male. Cartman pulled himself from the bridge slightly and ventured with his back turned to them. He squinted and made an annoyed sound when the winds swirled around them.  

Stan’s phone buzzed and he brought it to his face. Kenny’s vibrated as well, he glanced at his screen. An aimless snowflake melted over the Facebook logo on his cracked screen.

Butters caught his text aloud with a soft ‘oh’.

“Dudes.” Kyle gave a dissatisfied look, standing up completely. “Is this gonna be us? On our phones and computers, all day, forever?”

“Gotta stick with the times,” Stan said somberly. “Up and onward. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? …Wait. Did I say it right?”

“Well, I mean, yeah.” Emerald eyes shimmered before they slid from the direction of the soft voice. “But what happened to us?”

The other young men raised their heads at the redhead.

“When we were kids, we actually did stuff. We hung out and _did things._ Now it’s all about drugs, parties, and sex." Kyle glared when Kenny sniggered at the emphasis of the last word. "Are we gonna be like this too in college — until we get old?”

“That’s funny, Kahl.” Cartman snorted at that. “Who said Kenny’s goin’ to college?”

The blond in the orange coat raised his middle finger and cursed.

“You guys. I really hate to say this, but we’re trash,” Kyle cried worriedly. “And this is not how I want to be remembered. This can’t be our generation. I fear for our future — Ike’s future, we gotta shape up. We’re gonna have to do something about this or we’ll just keep setting bad examples.”  

Only the soothing sound of water splitting through rock, multiple crows glide over their heads. Their ugly caws echoed while Cartman dug into his pocket, drawing out a snack. Kenny glanced at Stan. Stan returned the look before they came with a silent agreement, each facing Kyle.

“Eh, I like pussy.” Kenny shrugged.

“Yeah me too.” Stan lazily scrolled through his phone again.

Hopes dashed, Kyle’s bony shoulders sagged underneath his coat.

“Welp. Looks like there’s nothin’ we can do...” the brunet cackled with a wide feline grin. “That makes a hundred-million points for us… and _zero_ _for the filthy Jew...”_

“Goddammit, Cartman! How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that!? You know, you’re really pushin’ it this time. One day, you’re gonna meet the wrong person again and it won’t be me. And when you do—”

Already at the end of the bridge, Stan peered ahead of him, dropping his arms to his sides.

Kyle halted instantly. “Stan?”

“I need to head home. I’m gonna catch up with The Game of Thrones.” The noiret excused himself poorly.

“Dude, we just caught up with the newest season a few days ago.” The redhead stepped close enough for his best-friend to hear.

“I can’t hang out right now.” Stan felt his throat ache. “I just need to clear my head, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.”

Absorbed by the fog, the jock had picked up a light jog after taking a few steps back. Kenny and Butters turned around. A dispirited frown settled over Kyle’s face. Concern filled him. He would hope that Stan will fill him in later with the details.    

Cartman bit into his Snickers bar. “Man, what’s with him?”

 

* * *

 

More chills from the icy wind. Stan walked the path to his home with his head down, cursing at himself. Chronic depression would be too overwhelming to explain to his set of friends. Even to someone as sympathetic as Butters, he would have a hard time grasping the struggle that Stan would be going through. 

The forest fire. Igniting his car up in flames had been the worse mistake of his life — next to confessing to Father Maxi that he found the same sex attractive.

Of course, his classmate Craig was there. He would use that to his disadvantage in the future, without a doubt to Stan. It’d been more than a premonition; it was a guarantee that Craig Tucker will blackmail him one day. There wouldn't be a reason behind it. Destroying other peoples' lives is what Craig would thrive on. Anything for a reaction. Hate. It was all funny to him. Stan would see through the mask he puts on before the show. All it would take is one wrong thing for him to say and it's lights out for him. 'Stan Marsh is gay.' There'd be no better and more spiteful student in school to deliver the message. Between that and the whole wanting to vanish part, Stan felt like the time in his ticking bomb was running out. More punishing thoughts snared him.

Stan reached the corner of his street and shook his head, laughing inwardly. He’s a joke. His whole life was a joke. That’s how he felt inside. It won’t stop.  Stan didn’t think it’d ever will. Things will only get worse from there, he could feel it. If he still had an inkling of a chance with Wendy, they would have already patched things up and be making plans by now.

Sighing, Stan tilted his head, gazing the snow-filled and empty driveway of his residence. Against his hand in his pocket, his phone vibrated.  Stan pulled it out of his pocket. His jaw hinged loosely when he discovered that it wasn’t Kyle, but Craig.

He averted his eyes after he keyed his doorknob. Barely in the mood to deal with others. Anyone, for that matter. 

**Today 3:01 pm**

_{Hey, are you free?}_

Stan pulled the keyboard display up.

**Today 3:01 pm**

_{nope. busy.}_

**Today 3:04 pm**

_{OK.}_

However, Stan would wonder what his classmate would have to gain from contacting him. It could be possible that Clyde needed a favor. Usually, with that case, he would get Craig or Token to ask. 

Breathing out, Stan tossed his coat on the couch. He could use the remaining months to try to better himself that year. Maybe turning over a new leaf would be a better choice for him. He texted back. 

**Today 3:04 pm**

_{wait craig what are you up to? are you_

_doing anything right now?}_

_{i mean, why do you ask?}_

**Today 3:04 pm**

_{I thought about what you said yesterday. About us always_

_fighting and stuff. I think we should hang out. If you’re_

_not doing anything right now.}_

_Don’t be easy. Wait a few more secs,_ instructed the voice in Stan’s head.

**Today 3:04 pm**

_{i don’t know. i kinda want_

_to stay in this time.}_

**Today 3:04 pm**

_{That’s fine.}_

Stan’s heartbeat reached his eardrums. For an unknown reason, he was the one that didn’t want rejection from his side.

**Today 3:06 pm**

_{Can I come over?}_

The question. Stan’s chest warmed at that.

He was getting desperate. Particularly, it could be the fact that he could be drawn by someone so familiar at such short notice or if his classmate was just a good kisser and the only boy temporarily willing; that’s available in town. Nevertheless, Craig wasn’t any stranger Stan would bump into at a street. They were playmates as kids, rather the other noiret wanted to admit to it or not.

The negatives certainly would outweigh the positives, as always. By now with them being almost adults, there would be no excuse for fighting. They have outgrown their petty games and differences; most of it, hopefully. Stan was a bit curious to see if Craig had any new perspective in things. With childhood, it had been easy to avoid hanging out with him, because of the same things his friends accused him of now, being a ‘downer’. Stan's thumbs began moving on their own. 

**Today 3:06 pm**

_{sure.}_

_{you can park at the garage._

_my parents aren’t home.}_

 

* * *

 

  
The text would merely not suggest anything.

Of course, it was uncommon for Stan and Craig to meet up alone together, let alone invite the other without consulting their other friends. They’ve been too busy repelling each other over the years. There usually had to be a solid foundation to build their meetings on. Most of it had been done because of different interests and lack of maturity from both ends.

Craig stepped in the house after Stan loosely gestured him to come inside. Craig’s pale orchid shirt accentuated his spring colored irises more radiantly while the bright snow from the lawn outlined his broad shoulders. Craig looked good when he dressed up. Never and not nearly as overdone as Cartman when there’d be a greedy goal. It’d been rude for Stan to stare. Blinking out of his transfixed state, he slowly backpedaled and closed the door, letting his classmate in.

“Welcome to my abode.” Stan spreads his arms unenthusiastically and dropped them to his hips.

“Nice setup,” Craig looked at the family picture frames nailed to the wall. “I thought you had a dog.”

“Sparky,” the jock remembered, passing the other teen a can of Sprite. “He died a month ago. Chocolate. He was a good dog.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We would’ve had to put him down, anyway.”

There was that negative talk again. Stan had to extinguish it. His gaze dipped to the heart-shaped box nestled beneath Craig’s forearm while they sat on the sofa. A red-velvet color wrapped with an attractive carnation bow. The ballotin looked way more expensive than what he could usually afford with Wendy. Although, most of his gifts for her have been homemade.

“Are those for Tweek?” Stan asked innocently, his arm brushed against Craig’s when he scooted closer.

Realizing what they spoke about recently, Craig hesitated before he would come up with an answer.

The chocolate would be all for himself now. That would be the reason why he had brought it there with him to Stan’s house. Something to chew on while they watched the gory episode of Game of Thrones in front of them.

“It was Tweek’s.”

“What do you mean it was Tweek’s? What happened with you guys?” Stan’s brows furrowed. “Craig—”

“You can relax. He doesn’t know about us kissing, or that you’re gay. Nobody in this one-dimensional town knows.”

Craig chewed slowly while the noise of swords clanked in the background.

“So… you just brought those chocolates here to eat in my face?”

The fancy bow was tugged and unraveled before the lid was removed.

“Pretty much,” said the green-eyed noiret with a mouthful he plucked from the box.  

Arms crossed over his chest, Stan pouted in his seat. _Fuck, I hate him again._

“Dude, I’m not that big of a dick. You can have some.”

“First time I hear you admit it.” With a soft smirk, Stan observed the candy he picked from the decorative parchment paper. It was topped with white chocolate that was dyed pink. A bit girly, but it looked delicious. He took a bite of the extravagant candy, letting the caramel ooze to his bottom lip. “Pretty good.”

“They better be. Took forever for me to decide on them.”

Stan had black fingernails. Craig wondered how long he had been painting them. The sugar confection hanging had obviously bothered him. Stan chewed slowly while Craig’s thumb brushed beneath his lip. Peculiarity would only lead things to a weirder path. Stan didn't ask. This would be no different than Kyle attacking his face with spit whenever he saw a mark or a stain. Only, this was Craig.

In that respect, Stan felt a slight urge to lean into his touch. The touch that he had grown accustomed to in such a short span of time.

 _Man, you need help,_ he said in his mind. 

As things were staticky between them occasionally, it would be interesting to see what this gesture had to offer. A teenager can daydream. It would just be that, a dream. 

What they were going to do next came close to nothing. Neither of them mumbled. Not a single word.

Craig removed his hand gently from Stan's mouth and he did something unpredictable. His tongue spiraled around the tip of his thumb.

Settled in his spot with his pupils slowly enlarging, Stan watched as Craig licked. It was almost as if he had been trapped in hypnosis. The sensual gesture had shot a torrent of heat between his legs. They kissed already. This wouldn’t be the least bit crazy to him. It didn’t feel weird to Stan. In fact, he liked it. That would be the only part that is unsettling to him.

After a period of pointless staring, their mouths connected. Stan yanked Craig to him, kissing him hard as they tumbled over the couch.

The back of Craig’s shirt was fisted in his hands. Stan tried to take it easy, his voice of reason slipping with every careless curl and plunder of the other male’s tongue. 

At this rate, The Game of Thrones wouldn’t be the sole focus for them anymore. Craig’s mouth worked mercilessly, sucking heavy and hungry spots down Stan’s neck and collar. He nuzzled his way up. Stan opened his mouth to him, kissing back desperately.

Their hard crotches rubbed and slid against each other’s while Stan’s shirt rode up on the couch. He captured his classmate’s face between his hands. Breathy in between kisses, an accidental moan poured from Stan’s lips when Craig added more pressure, grounding his hips to him. A whine that time was incited from Stan. The noise, keen on his classmate’s ears. A swab of a tongue was rewarded to him in return.

“Craig, wait.” Stan kissed him back once more. “I’ve never done this before.” Another kiss. “…Craig.” _Kiss._ “Fuck.”

On his palms, the noiret above lifted himself up. A certain curse word snagged Craig’s attention quickly.

“You think we’re gonna fuck?”

The boy underneath swallowed hard, cheeks turning color. “I don’t know… Do you want to? Wouldn’t it feel weird if Tweek…”

“That’s not my concern right now,” said Craig with haste.

“W-wait a minute, dude — what do you mean you don't know? What happened with you guys?”

“We got into a fight. Where’s your room?”

Stan wetted his lips before tugging the hem of his shirt down. He turned off the television and walked ahead of Craig. “Upstairs, follow me.”

 

* * *

  
Without prodding right away for discussion, the classmates made it up the stairwell and then down the hall. Stan pressed his back against his bedroom door, shutting it closed behind him. Whereas Shelly wouldn’t come home for a few hours, her younger sibling would use his time wisely. Hardly back on track from his breakup with Wendy, Stan's sanctuary was an untidy mess. Opposed to Craig's own room, which was presentable and intensely organized. Stan heaves out a hefty sigh before he decided to take a few steps forward.

Craig was at the edge of his bed, peering down at his phone.

“Okay, so, first thing’s first.” Stan paced after he pressed his back to the door. “None of this gets out of here.”

No nod, not a single shrug. Craig was perfectly still. "Kay."

“I’m serious. You have to mean it,” Stan said gravely.  

“I do.”

“On your life, Craig.” Stan narrowed his eyes. “You can’t tell _anybody_. Not Token, not Jimmy. Not Jason, or Kevin — _especially,_ not Clyde. Especially not him. This could really fuck me up if it gets out. I could get ruined forever for this.”

All remarks, too typical. Stan didn’t know how to keep his cool. Of course, his reputation would be a great deal to him and would be ‘on the line’. He would be so vague to Craig. Too many things would be ‘at stake’ for Stan. All for no good reason to Craig.  

“And what about me?” argued Craig from the mattress. “You don’t think this will ruin me one bit, either? It’s your call. _I don’t_ _have to do anything_. My dad’s taking the whole family out to dinner tonight. I can just walk away right now and not look back if I want to. Don't fuck with me, it’s not too late for me to leave.”

Stan softened his gaze. “Then, why don’t you?”

Craig stood up, tossing him a business look. He hooked his index finger toward the knot of his tie. “Sex. What’s your take on it?”

The other boy worked his jaw, robbed of breath.

“Your philosophy, Stan.” Tomato red crept up Craig’s cheeks as well. “What’s your take on it?”

“Oh, sex? Um, I think it’s a social construct.”

The other male heeded his remark, free of emotion.

“Other than that, I confess to Father Maxi once in a while to clear my conscience.” Stan’s serious gaze leveled at the undeterred teen. “This here, you don’t have to worry about it. I can keep it to myself. As long as you do your part, I’ll keep quiet. I trust you.”

Stan brought his phone up to see if he would be notified with any visits from his friends he had just ditched. The curtains in the room were pulled closed. Nothing but the grayness of the shadows engulphed them. Stan wasn’t quite accustomed to sitting in anyone’s lap since childhood. He claimed his spot tentatively when Craig pulled him over to him.  

Their mouths separated with a wet noise.

“Fuck, dude, your lips are soft.”

“Just shut up and let me take the lead,” Craig said, pulling back from another kiss. “I don’t have all fucking day. And if I’m correct... if this is your first time, you better prepare yourself. You’re gonna be raw and red by the time we're finished.”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh, you ‘don’t care’ I wouldn't assume you'd be sacrificing your ass to me, because you just 'don't care'." 

The male in the beanie slipped his hands to his side. 

"There must be some reason why we're in this room at the same time. But it's fine, I'll go first," Craig continued. "Let me paint a picture for you."

"My boyfriend cheated on me. Today, I was going to give the most awesome Valentine's gift to him ever, and you know what I saw...?” Craig paused, waiting for Stan's response. No reply, he continued when he was finished hesitating. "He was holding another guy's hand. My boyfriend, Tweek, who promised he wouldn't cheat on me again, was getting cozy with another guy in his coffee shop. Meanwhile, my two very own best-friends, who I've known just as long betrayed me. They didn't even have the balls to tell me they were there. So now, I'll fuck anything, and you're just a hole... So that's that."

"Ah, good for you. And you're just a dick," Stan retorted, fully aware of what was coming to terms for them. “Craig, okay. Look, I'm sorry about your whole deal with your boyfriend and stuff. But can you loosen up a little?”

"Oh, right. Because, it's all about you, my bad." 

"Seriously, dude."

The young man on the mattress blinked tiredly. 

“We’re gonna be at our most vulnerable states here. You should probably let me go first.” Stan brought himself up from Craig. Slowly, he popped the button of his jeans and pulled the zipper down. “I’ll show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Yep, pretty much.”

Rough denim rested blow Stan’s hips. Sometimes he would go with wearing oversized shirts. Other times, he had worn tops that flattered his muscle-tone. Craig shifted in his spot, taking in what is presented in front of him. The other boy’s shaft sprung forward with a light bounce. As predicted, he had hair down there. The head of his cock flared dark pink at the tip. It swelled with a slight curve, his arousal leaking healthily from the head.

Easily agitated, Stan noticed Craig grinning suddenly. “What’s so funny?”

“You shave,” said the more indifferent one.  “Kinda remembered you having a bush down there in PE.”

That would be a failed assumption. To make things easier for himself, the self-conscious noiret took it as a grain of salt. “Haha, how funny. Let's see yours now." Stan's resentment for the comment died down, he indicated next, gently. "It’s your turn.”

Rather stoically, Craig kept his trademark visage and undid the buckle of his belt, his bulge more defined through the thin material of his boxer shorts. Lips pressed into a thin line, Craig stopped at the waistband. He peered over at the plug socket behind Stan. His pupils land elsewhere but his classmate’s face.

“Uhm, I’ll hold, it’s okay if you’re shy.” The soft voice in front of him assured him.

“I’m not.”   

What they were about to do, wouldn’t be up for a review. This must have been a dead end and rock bottom for both of them. The corrupted town, possibly. It would be easy to blame it on that; anything. Lowering his eyes, Craig lifted his hips up and pushed his boxers down.

 

* * *

 

“Are you just going to stare at it all day? It’s a dick. We see it at the sausage fest of a locker room all the time.”

Rattled, Stan’s blues skied upward. “Not hard. Not in person and stuff. Just in porno… and maybe Kenny’s.”

Craig glared at the mention. “Jesus, did you guys screw too?”

“What? Dude, no! We just kissed. We didn’t go any further than that, I swear.”

Exaggeration, the male on the bed could do without. Once his fluster died down, Stan pulled his pants all the way down and kicked them off. His shirt and hoodie flew to the floor next. Now seeing that Craig has not made a sound. Something close to envy. He had never seen muscles ripple that attractively in person before. Well, that would be a lie. Craig has been exposed to more than a few. Stan noticed the other male’s liking and smirked. Fully nude, he tugged his beanie off. 

Stan tossed his hair, shoving a few stands between the webs of his fingers, no longer timid about his own nakedness. Craig hooked his index finger and motioned him to come closer. On any occasion to be brought to his knees, is a personal insult for Stan. On any occasion, he wouldn’t dare. For the sake of experimenting, he would swallow his pride just this once. As this would be… only one time. They would only do this, one time. 

"You know," Craig said, "you'd be a lot hotter if you actually didn't try."

"Thanks, I think." 

"Welcome."

Stan knelt between the other male’s legs, his hands stopped at Craig’s knees. He didn’t want to say it, but he may have underestimated Craig’s dick size. He had to be bigger than him by an inch. And it would be slightly intimidating as Stan got a glimpse of it up close. 

“It's not gonna bite. You can touch it if you want.”

Certainly, it would be why they were there.

Cheeks seethed a rose tint, Stan suddenly felt like it was his first time again.  

“Take as much time as you need,” said Craig from above. “Just be done before six, I have somewhere to be.”

Stan blinked at the weight of Craig’s hand when he sets it over his head. His own hand rose, curling his fingers around the base of his classmate’s twitching organ. Pre-cum soaked the tip of Craig’s cockhead, spilling onto the palm of Stan's other hand, where he held it. Touching Craig's dick felt different than his own, as expected. Stan leaned over, pressing butterfly kisses over his shaft from the root to tip. He flattened his tongue, familiarizing it with the texture of Craig in a slow and single slide.

He tasted like skin. Craig was both firm and velvety soft at the same time. Stan tongued his balls, before his mouth attached to one. Eyes drifting closed, Craig lets out a soft noise of approval. Stan laved the tip with his tongue, sipping the side of it, before taking it between his lips appropriately.

"Relax your jaw," instructed the noiret above.

The rise and fall of the chest over him goaded Stan to put more effort. Spit dribbled down the corners of his lips. Stan slurped with more enthusiasm and Craig pushed his head further down. Stan’s lips stretched around his girth, the bitter salt of pre-cum trickled down his throat. It wasn’t bad. It was unlike anything he has ever tasted before. He had to suck harder, he needed more.

Craig slid out of his mouth. Gasping, Stan stared up, tears brimming at the corners of his brilliant irises. Hand cupping Stan’s damp chin, the taller noiret elevated himself from the mattress. Black hair tangled in his fingers, Craig tugged tightly, thrusting his hips into his classmate’s mouth. Barely ready, Stan complied with the new move set, his tongue scraping against the underside of his cock. Craig pulled out sharply and Stan gasped, unable to control his coughs.

Webs of saliva dripped from the roof of Stan’s mouth down to his tongue. This had been everything that Craig had tried to avoid in his innermost private and intrusive thoughts... and now, he would be facing it head-on. As it turned out at that moment for Craig, he would be conquering his fears, and it wasn't that bad. 

His hand was suddenly wrapped around Stan’s pale neck. A single kiss was stolen from him when Craig crushed his lips to his. The more emotional teen had not expected to be tossed on his bed when the other male snatched his shoulder. No other person has ever had this much power over Stan. He would usually communicate about it first. Stan made a soft noise when was flipped on his back.

Quick work of unbuttoning his shirt would be done. Craig’s tie hung over his shoulders, bare his torso and stomach revealed at the split of the blouse. There had been stitches below his collarbone, but Stan would be too distracted with the toned figure that was displayed to him. As it appeared, Craig was toned and had muscles as well. They were both lithe and fit, like most boys their age. Outdoor activities and sports have given them both leverage in the looks department. As Craig wouldn't be as active in as many teams as Stan, he still had an athletic build to show off.   

“You have lube, right?” Craig surged upward, eyes glazing over.

Stan snapped out of his daze. “I should. Top drawer, below that lamp,” he murmured.  

There’d been some digging around. He found it. Craig's irises flit up at the other male's face. 

“What the fuck, dude, you shave your ass too? How the hell does anyone still think you’re straight?”

“Uh, hey, Craig. Don’t you have to be at somewhere by six?” the noiret below said surly.

The bottle of lubricant was placed at the end of the nightstand.

“Durex sucks. You’d get more bang for your buck if you buy Trojan.”

Stan resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, five minutes without disagreeing on everything would be great.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. That’s how long you sucked my dick.”

“Fuck off, Craig. I don’t know why I ever thought this was a good idea.” Stan moved toward the edge of the bed. “I think I’ve already experienced enough of this 'gay' thing. Thanks, dude.”

 

* * *

 

As Stan rolled to one side, Craig seized his elbow and jerked him back to his spot. Stan’s reaction was muffled by another searing kiss that burned right through him.

Wrists roughly pinned by his head, Stan whipped his head to one side and gasped while his chest and stomach was attacked with rough kisses. He was panting already as Craig’s wet lips trailed from his hips to his inner thigh. Desire rising again, Stan breathed through his teeth and bucked his hips impatiently at Craig. He yelped when the other male bit his neck. Stan bucked again.

Another gasp and his fingers coiled in his palms. A dollop of transparent gel was slathered over Craig’s cock. Stan squeezed his eyes tight while he felt Craig him prodding his hole with his fingers. 

“Craig… oh my god.” Stan’s mouth slacked open. Dark eyebrows drew together. “…wait.”

“Relax.”

Craig drew back his knuckles once he was finished preparing with his classmate below. Chest rising up and down, Stan slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. Craig's cock rested on his thigh. His skin was warm, almost hot. He was weighty, even from there. Then next, came the real thing. The thick head of Craig's cock slowly nudged Stan's entrance. There was pressure. Little by little, Stan could feel his opening stretch as Craig sank himself more to him. A pathetic and broken whimper ghosted from Stan’s lips when they peeled backward.

“I don’t know if I can take it…” the smaller noiret whined.

“You can.”

Back nudged against the comforter, Stan hissed when Craig rolled into him and gyrated his hips. “Uh..” Their body heat mingled together and Craig released Stan’s arms. Their faces aligned, contorting with soft lines. Craig kissed the boy beneath him dizzily slow after doing an experimental wiggle. Stan laughed behind his arm despite the pain, and Craig rocked his pelvis into him. He slammed into him, more forcefully the next time. 

Another cry spilled out from Stan. It’d be a struggle just to formulate a few words. The shirt and tie were tossed to the ground. Angry red marks appeared on Craig’s back when Stan’s short fingernails bit and dragged over his flesh. A steady rhythm had been picked up as he gained momentum. For Stan, the sting slowly began to ebb away.   

Stan had been too busy being overwhelmed by his insides stretching, but he was partially glad that Craig didn’t ask how his body accommodated to his girth so quickly. That would just be his own little secret. He’s had practice with his fingers, toys he's bought from Amazon; candlesticks. There’d be no will nor strength to argue. Craig was right, he was ‘fucking’ him... and it wasn’t the other way around. Stan would save face later. The shock on his face turned into a cryptic smile when his thighs were pushed against his chest.

"Oh, God..." At each punishing crash of Craig’s hips, Stan was anchored in his spot. "Keep going... please keep doing it…"

Craig closed his eyes and rocked faster. 

"Keep going, I want it… please... _"_   The noiret below growled, tossing his head back. _"Fuck me..._ fuck me... Oh, God, Craig..." His eyes screwed shut tightly,feeling his cock expand inside him. _"mmhh!"_  Stan could no longer contain his low sobs. _"Ah_. _.. fuck, it feels so good! ...Craig!"_

Another gasp, with both hands Stan gripped his classmate’s rear tighter while he pounded against him. He had unintentionally shocked them both with his eagerness to be filled. As it would just be them by themselves, again, Stan didn’t hold back his noises. It was his house. No one would be coming over soon. His friends had other plans and it'd be far too interesting seeing Craig become unhinged without the witness of his inner circle. 

Craig smiled against Stan’s cheek, burrowing his dick deeper inside of him. The tip of his tongue spiraled and flicked against Stan’s. The teen below cried out again while Craig resumed with swift and energetic thrusts. Leaning downward, Craig’s rhythmic breathing fanned over Stan’s neck and collarbone. He grunted more at the sensation of being pulled in and worked up a satisfying speed. Their bodies began working up more sweat. "You're doing great..." he whispered above Stan.  

The sounds Stan made withered into soft breathes as he sank deeper into a libidinous vortex. He closed his eyes while his body rubbed against the messy sheets. When Craig leaned down and kissed him deeply, Stan's hands slid behind his ears. He gasped into his mouth. Through a half-lidded gaze, his blues met Craig's green ones. With his hips continued smacking against his classmate's rear, Craig pressed his sweaty forehead to Stan's and gave him a long closed-mouth kiss. Craig's lips parted again when he brought his face up.  

Stan’s brows twitched, he nearly whimpered again. “Hit me.”

“What?” The straightforward command nearly made Craig lose balance.

“Do it… hit me. Slap me across the fucking face!”

Over Stan’s cheek, a pink mark bloomed. He captured Craig’s thumb between his teeth after a few strikes. His classmate tore his grip away from him. Stan made a noise at the loss. With his legs scooped under Craig’s arms, Stan gasped when he was hoisted toward his bedframe. With his spine flushed against it, his shouts overlapped the wooden board banging against the wall. Stan encircled his arms around Craig’s shoulders.

Stan could barely focus on anything anymore. He had been too afraid to have sex with any girl this rough. It’d been pleasurable handing over the reins to someone else for a change.

Craig slipped out of Stan, letting him slide to his pillows. His classmate’s bare pelvis was tilted toward his head. Craig repeated his declaration several times, slicking his fist back and forth.

"Open up. Gonna come..." he panted. 

Stan craned his neck up through shallow breathing. He wagged his tongue as his hair was pulled. His nose and cheek welcomed the indelible hot spurts pouring from the head of Craig's cock. Stan opened wider while the last of it was concentrated directly in his mouth. He easily denied the urge to gargle. Craig shuddered with a low moan while his prick was sucked clean. The other young man mouthed his sticky cockhead lazily before it slipped past his lips. Obscenities fell from Craig's lips.

The teen below stroked his own shaft relentlessly, determined to finish off. A few pumps and Stan trembled.   

Taking his hand away from his dick, Stan examined the mess they made. Come seeped through his fingers and Craig’s eyes widened when he sank beside him.

“You swallowed,” Craig said, surprised.

“Of course, I did. It’d be rude not to.”

 

* * *

 

Blankets distort below Stan. This had been better than pulling out a brandy, tequila, or the half-empty vodka from his father’s secret stash. Had Stan been drunk, this would have been a messier scenario. The first gay sex he had would be a good experience if he’s sober. It’d be something he didn’t want to miss out on. Still, he couldn’t quite wrap around his head that it would be Craig he’d be enjoying his 'first time' with. Once his cock was in, all complaints have been severed away from Stan. 

Gripping the sheets and panting, Stan synchronized his movements with Craig’s fast and short thrusts. He had been flipped over his stomach a while ago. The other male stood at the edge of his bed. Their heavy breathing drifted down the hall. The smell of sex hung loose and humid in the bedroom air. Over the noise of Craig’s hips colliding with his tailbone, Stan lets out another whimper. In defeat, words sliced and diced to jumbled consonants.

Craig pulled out and turned him over again. Jets of hot come spilled over Stan’s chest while the other male pumped above him. The stain in the ceiling looked like Kyle. This had been the best Stan has had in a long time. He felt like one of those girls Mrs. Broflovski warned him about.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t suppose a cuddle would be asking for too much.” Craig’s humorless and dry tone had little substance to it.   

Stan stretched in his bed. He walked toward the bathroom in the hall and returned after rinsing himself off with a detachable showerhead. He came back with a dry towel in his hands.

Craig finished buttoning up his shirt. “You know, you’re really fucked up.”

“Oh… the hitting and spitting thing.” Stan turned his head, wiping his neck. “Tweek’s not into that?”

“There’s other good things that make up for it.”

“To each their own, I guess.” The towel was dropped and a pair of boxers were pulled from the dresser. Stan stepped into one leg hole and then the other. He scooped his beanie up from the floor. “Do you want another soda? Water?”

“Water would be nice. Don’t usually drink tap.”

 

* * *

 

The classmates made it down the stairs after Stan dressed and Craig was handed a bottle of filtered water as he had requested. Stan glanced at the clock on his kitchen wall, removing his mouth from the rim of his own bottle.

Craig twisted the cap over his refreshment.

“Wow, so, we really did that… didn’t we?”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore,” Stan admitted embarrassed. 

His dark lashes fluttered when the back of Craig’s fingers grazed his cheek. Whatever that entailed, the tiny gesture itself was a warning for Stan that he had been liking this too much. Conflicted at his current state, Stan kept his thoughts moot.

“You’ll get used to it. It just takes some time adjusting.”

Stan closed his eyes when the taller male’s lips descended to his one last time. Their mouths disconnect while Craig still had a firm grip on the other boy’s ass. The fabric of Stan’s sweatpants twisted where Craig dug his fingers.  

“I’m going now. Take care,” Craig enabled the sound on his phone again, “It’s been fun. We’ll talk later at school or something.”  

“Likewise..."

“Yeah.”

"Oh, I forgot." Stan grabbed a remote from the kitchen drawer. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the garage.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you guys liked it. Please join me on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaolra) for my drawings ~~sometimes~~ , shitposts, and status updates for the new batch of story that's coming. Account's NSFW, so make sure you're an adult before hitting that follow button. ;-)
> 
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>  **Edit:** Also, a little bit of trivia. I went with the headcanon that South Park children are a bit fast for their age. So, less awkward fumbling for Stan and Craig. At least, in this universe. But, they're not immune to it.
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>  


	14. Pheromones and Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Craig Tucker couldn't resist again._  
> 
> 
>   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg. A month-long break. I hope you guys will like it. I did have a break, however, I poured my blood, sweat, and tears to this again. I hope you guys are as excited about reading it as much as I am updating it. Thank you guys, who are still in this journey. As we all know, it will get darker. So, I'll send a safety warning in advance. New **author's note** in the first chapter. Happy reading everyone! xx

_Monday afternoon, February 17_

_2 years ago_

Since the week he and Craig had sex, Stan couldn’t quite scrub the image of his classmate’s erection out of his head. Saving private face for later, Craig has become the current source of Stan's masturbatory thoughts. As guessed, watching porn of it and actually partaking in the actual thing was sadly mindblowing to the jock.  If anything, he'd expect to shove himself up someone else's insides first before letting it happen to him. As it disappointingly turned out for himself, Stan Marsh liked cock. A lot. And it was just one time. More of, several times in a consistent timespan. 

Stan would never allow himself to be humiliated and admit it. Craig’s dick was perfect to him. From the texture, size, and the feel. It was everything his perverted mind fantasized about. While usually it was a faceless male, the ideal image would be right there. It was during a moment of weakness, Stan allowed himself to be fucked by this dick. His dick. Craig's dick, of all people and all his classmates. He found that it wasn’t bad to him at all. 

Stan sat in his desk in history class. While his teacher up front reviewed to him and his classmates their homework assignments, Stan focused on the minutes left in the clock before lunchtime. While the recent images of the previous weekend clouding his mind, Stan scribbled over the aging song lyrics on his notebook paper with a black gel pen and pondered why he hasn’t gotten rid of them yet. Much lewder and more obscene verses graced the center of the page. At least, during his current peak of adolescence. It was Stan’s weakness at its finest.

As Stan would fear with any girl that he has had sex with in the past, there had always been a huge concern of over-attachment. In Craig’s case, iciness was a huge part of his personality from the very start. Which, has kept Stan at ease. The very last thing they needed to do was explain to each other about the butt-grabs and the kissing in between.

Their inappropriate romp they had was a result of the ‘heat of the moment’. Nothing lost, nothing gained. As life had taken an odd turn, Stan was relieved that he and Craig ended it on good terms. Now, they will be able to be friends and put it behind them. Or, go back to disliking each other. That way, it wouldn’t make anyone feel suspicious of them. The notebook paper was loudly ripped in the quiet room. Crumpled, loosely balled, and disposed of in a wastebasket that was conveniently placed beside him. It would have certainly been preferred if the inked-out words died with the car fire, but Stan had a better knack for clinging onto his creative projects rather than deserting them.  

Time heals. Wendy said so herself. His mother Sharon did, so did Kyle. Maybe, perhaps, they were right. Stan’s starting to realize that, the more time he’s had to himself. The male-on-male experience that he had with Craig has left him yearning with more curiosity and feeling a bit bereft. The whole encounter being much different than one with Kenny. Stan went all the way and nothing’s changed. He still liked girls, and... he liked boys. Stan Marsh is still bi. The image of being railed by a dick; either organic or prosthetic, _still_ gave him a hard-on.

The lunch bell finally rang. Stan balled up another ripped-up paper and threw it in the trash. Kyle nudged his shoulder, catching his attention. Creases revealed at the sides of his bright freckled face, the redhead lent Stan a kind grin before they emerged to the door.

 

* * *

 

Kenny joined up with Stan shortly to gather their trays at the lunch line. By far, it was one of the dreadful perks of not having a car to Stan. Eating lunch from the cafeteria again took some time and has been one of the most revolting things to adjust to again. The sight and the smells used to be tantalizing after long periods of waiting in class, but not so much when Stan spoiled himself with his friends and they've broadened their horizons. At least, when they got cars.  

Stan’s blues zeroed in on the processed, hot and lumpy, goop of mashed potatoes scooped on his tray. His mouth twitched into a small frown at the corners when he grabbed his cookie. Neck craning up, Kenny smirked at peas and carrots piled on his own tray and they walked toward their usual table.

“So, where’d you go last weekend?” asked the blond as he scooped the food on his tray.

Stan picked at his potatoes with his plastic fork. Envy gently swirling in his eyes. At a table ahead of them, Token joined up with Tweek and Clyde. Stan rested his cheek on his palm. They removed their winter jackets and sat their bags at the corner of it. The insignia of Tweek’s family business was recognizable at even such a distance. Clyde rummaged through another set of bags with the Panda Express logo and drew out a to-go container.

An exasperated sigh and Stan hung his head up, glaring at the dead bugs behind the ceiling lights and the hanging school banners.

Kenny shook his shoulder gingerly. “Hey man.”

“You were there, Kenny.” Stan removed his mouth from his fork. “I went home and watched The Game of Thrones, remember?”

“Dunno, Stan. Is that all you did?”

“Okay, I watched Game of Thrones and I jacked off a little.” Arms folded in front of his tray, the noiret craned his neck up, adding. "What do you mean is that all I did?"

“Mirror, dude. When’s the last time you looked at one. You’ve got hickeys all over your collar and neck, dude.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Either way, you gotta do way better than Shelly’s concealer. That stuff can only buff out so much.” Kenny’s tab minimized to a Raisin's girl he met the day before in a flashy g-string. “No complaints here, though. I’m glad somebody’s gettin’ some.”

Stan grinned. “Okay, you got me. I fooled around a bit. Just don’t bring it up after this?”

The blond bit into his reheated pizza, returning that teasing grin. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Thanks, Kenny. I don't know, really. Just keep it quiet for a bit longer. I'll probably let you know for real later on. We can play a board game or something. And it's not concealer, it’s foundation."

Stan's raspiness earned him a chuckle.   

Shirt collar pulled down by his hand, Stan canted his head to one side to get a closer examination of the purple and deep pink marks below his earlobe. The trail developed to his collarbone. Which again, as Kenny stated, wasn’t bad. He has underestimated the other round. Craig had done a number on him. Setting his phone down, Stan flushed immediately and fixed his top.

Frustration graced his features. Stan breathed out slowly through his nostrils. Kenny patted his shoulder.

“Hehe. So, who’s the lucky girl this time?” Amber brows waggled up and down. “Is she available? Did she… have big breasts?” Kenny boob-squeezed the air.

“No.” 

“Did you hold her hair like a gentleman when you fucked her mouth?” Thrilled, Kenny’s imagination was alive, buzzing. “Did you use any condoms? Was there any semen? Did you _nut in her guts...?”_

“Kenny, no, I didn't do half of those things. I already told you, that's all you're gonna get. We can discuss it later.”

"Aww."

The swarming intrusions. Stan didn’t want to be particular. Nothing was said, he couldn’t tell him yet. Stan opened his can of cherry Coke and took a swig from it.

“Hmm. Bebe is looking ample and pleasantly provocative today.” The blond sat in his seat and analyzed. “I don’t see any hickeys on her, you’re gettin’ really good at this...”

A chocolate pudding cup was opened next to him.

“What about…”  Kenny turned his head and flashed a toothy grin at the group of girls in tight sweaters and mini-skirts. Glancing Kenny’s way, Millie flushed at him before Red gave him a disgusted look steering her friend away with a hand on her slim shoulder. “Was it one of them?”

Stan pushed Kenny’s index finger down.

“Nope,” he answered shuffling his food with his fork, hunched forward. “He doesn’t go here.”

Knowing that he isn’t safe in the cafeteria, Stan’s reply came out in a half-whisper. The camera app was dismissed on Stan’s phone screen and he went back to the food on his tray. Figuring as much, he wanted to end it there. That, of course, didn’t stop the lines forming on Kenny’s forehead. A look of genuine amusement touched him. Staring forward and then back at Stan.     

For some quiet time, it took an amount to process some of that.

 _He,_ Kenny pondered in his head, _He…_

“Holy shit!” Eyes expanding wide, Kenny weakened his grip on Stan’s shoulder before his face settled. The blond’s voiced shrilled as if it were on helium, “You got those hickeys from a dude—”  

Stan’s eyes shifted. “Dude, not so loud. I went experimenting last weekend, okay? It was someone I met in my last shift.” He narrowed his eyes, referring to his job. “I can’t give it away. Not here. Kenny, please."

“Oh, you sneaky little…” Kenny’s sentence was cut off by a bark of laughter.  

“Yeah. You start at the balls,” Cartman said. “You start at the balls first. You never forget the balls.”

“What? No, you don’t.” Kyle narrowed his eyes beside him. “That’s ridiculous. You’re so full of shit, Cartman. You politely ask if she wants to start at the shaft first. Don’t believe a thing he says Butters, you’re not even guaranteed third base or not.”

 _“You_ _start at the balls.”_ Louder, Cartman inhaled and repeated next to standing Butters.

 _“Wha-_ why the balls?” said Butters. “I’m not gonna suck anyone’s wiener or anything.”

“Butters, Butters. Why the fuck would you suck anyone’s wiener?” Cartman pulled a cookie from his paper bag. “You just tell the chick to suck your balls when she goes down on you at Jenny’s party. You never forget the balls _ever_ — that’s how you’ll know she’ll be a dud in the sack. Balls first. It’s common knowledge.”  

“Never forget the balls... Got it.” The words were written elegantly in cursive in Butters’ unicorn notepad with his pastel pink gel pen. The holographic horn flashed from the ceiling lights shining specks of light over Stan and Kenny’s lunch table.   

Placing a few fast food bags down on the lunch table, Kyle kept quiet, and Cartman placed the cardboard drink coaster down.

“Oh my god.” The other bags crumpled immediately when Stan dug his hand inside. “You got us chicken nuggets? Aw, dude, you’re so fucking awesome!”

“Hell yeah!” Kenny cheered.

“Will you look at that. So much love today, we’re one big family again.” Smiling affectionately, Cartman cupped Kyle’s shoulder and shook him. “Look at them, mom. They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“Fuck off, Cartman.” The jew jerked his hand away. “I still remember that dirty trick you did on Mrs. Hutchinson.”

“Oh my god.” While Stan greedily stuffed his mouth with more hot fries Kenny raised head beside him and bit into his own burger. “This is fantastic,” he hummed. "So good..."

The blond agreed as well with a sound as he stuffed his face with more food.

“You’re gonna regret your move now that we’re stuck with Mr. Kichirou for history class now,” Kyle jabbed his red straw in his cup, facing Cartman. “You don’t have to say it. I knew it was you who put that writing on that desk.”

“Mm.” Cartman shrugged. Butters took a seat across from Kenny and gave him a look.

“Mrs. H is a pedo, really?” continued Kyle. “Cartman, I knew you wanted to avoid taking the test just as much as the rest of us, but how low can you go?”

“Hey Kenny,” Butters waved at the blond in the parka.

The freckled blond smiled back at him. “Hey, dude.”

“My god, you really have no idea what you’ve done, don’t you?” Above him, Kyle was fuming.

Butters plucked a napkin from the bag.

“You're just okay with it. You just have no remorse. You know what else is really unsettling here? Having someone permanently labeled as a sex offender _._ That, should be the _real offense._ I don’t think any person here would stoop so low. No one in class would stoop that low — I wouldn’t stoop that low. Even my _boogers_ wouldn’t stoop that low.”

Stan laughed. A soft cough noise beside Kyle. The Jew’s hand flinched slightly where he reached by his phone hanging from his pocket.

Kyle placed his hand on Stan’s back. “Jesus Christ, dude, slow down. You’re gonna choke.”

“On cock,” Kenny snuck in mirthfully.

Innocuous, but a complete giveaway, Stan didn’t adapt to the joke as fast, but he kept his cool. He would prefer it if anyone didn’t connect the dots. Seeing how slow as most people were in town, he would say to himself that his chances were pretty low. Stan would still not underestimate Kyle.

Butters opened his mouth. “Wha-wha what?”

The noiret in the beanie coughed before he swallowed a chunk of his burger, shoulders shaking slightly. Kenny patted Stan and rubbed his back. The rest of the food dissolved going down his friend’s throat. No one had a thing to utter or a thing to share after that.

Rubbing his mouth, Stan’s irises flit back up to his best friend’s face, now noticing that he was gaping at him.

Kenny had seen it coming. Much to the marks on Stan’s pale neck, several of them. As for Kyle, there was one thing he knew about Stan, and it would be his poor choice in putting his self-worth in his looks and athletics. The blotches on his skin would be a clear evidence of it. No one wanted to speak up of it that morning. It would be normal to see them on Stan between his breakups and makeups with Wendy Testaburger. Briefly concerned, dissatisfaction reached the corners of Kyle’s mouth.

“What’s this now?” Kyle commented, tugging Stan’s collar down.  “Dude, I thought we had an agreement. Why do you look like a possum attacked your neck and you haven't slept for days?”

Kenny dipped five of his fries in his ketchup, poked his lips, and averted his gaze.

“Stan, you left us to _have sex?”_

Much emphasis used in the last two words. It was neither the first or last time Stan was cornered with that.

Stan took his mouth away from his straw. “No Kyle, it’s not what you think— well…half of it isn’t.”  

“Oh my god.” Kyle placed his phone down. “I can’t believe this.”

Stan straightened in his seat. “Can’t believe what?”

“You always do this,” his best-friend inhaled exasperatedly. “You always say you’re going to lie down, and then go over to screw Wendy."

Stan’s blues met with Kenny’s. They glanced back at the boy in the curls.

"Okay. Now, I'm serious. You can't be more distracted, Stan. I highly suggest you focus on your studies and finals more if you wanna continue playing hockey.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks, coach. I didn’t know pussy had that much effect on my performance.” snarked the jock. “ _Or,_ you can relax. It wasn’t Wendy this time. I’m moving on, Kyle. I’m finally getting over her for good.”

“Ah, great. That’s something I’d like to see. So, who is it? Which one of the cheerleaders was it this time?” Kyle asked, disappointed.

“None.”

The red straw was pushed down on his milkshake by Stan’s pinched fingers. Stan’s lips peeled backward. Engulfed by silence quickly after, the sound of Cartman’s drinking straw was the only thing heard. Kyle crossed his arms. Leery, judging eyes.

“Dude. Why does it matter if I went home to screw or not?” Stan whined, feeling as if he were speaking to Sharon.  “It’s just a couple of hickeys, and they won’t be the last ones I get either.”

Cartman chomped on Kyle’s fries and watched.

“Don’t act like you’re innocent either. You’re always saying that you’re going to watch Ike and then have Kenny over for video games. Because apparently, I suck.”  

“No different — no different, _how dare you,”_ Appalled, Kyle surged upward. “Dude, Ike is my brother. Don’t you dare compare your horniness him— us — your friends!”

“Aww, I don’t see what the big commotion’s about. Let him fuck.” Kenny muffled fondly and Kyle gaped at him.  

“I _still_ can’t believe this.” Kyle folded his arms over the table.

“Huh, can’t believe what?” A nasally voice kicked in.

Token and Clyde in their varsity jackets joined up after dumping their trays, stepping over to their table. Stan blinked when a hand sets on his shoulder, Clyde’s.

“Nice,” congratulated the brunet jock, smirking at Stan.

“Yeah man, way to go.” Token shifted with his hands in his pockets.

For once, it didn’t sound sarcastic Token was genuinely celebrating. Being the calm one, he would still indulge in ‘bro culture’. At least, from a safe distance.

A few trays were dumped loudly in the garbage bins behind them. The males around Stan’s lunch table lifted their heads, focuses dropped to the group of girls that tsked and scoffed loudly in front of them.

Bebe curled her lip in disgust. The word, she said it for Wendy. _“Wow.”_

“Whore.” Red turned, dumping her blue tray.

“Yeah, what a tramp,” said another girl in the group that the males weren’t familiar with.

“What did you expect, they’re jocks,” Nichole added airily.

Token’s smile faded. “Hey baby, wait.”

Long black hair flowed by his table. The world went in slow motion for Stan. Beside Esther and Millie, was a highly miffed Wendy. In her pink beret she tossed her head up in disdain and turned a dignified nose in the air. Her new girlfriend Heidi, along Bebe, lunged with their trays and followed. Soft chattering noise from each at them at their direction, then it fades.

Everyone erased around her. She was the only one that mattered. Stan’s chest constricted tightly. He felt sick and stupid. But this time, it wouldn’t be because he wanted Wendy back instantly. Inwardly, he’d continue beating himself about it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was the first time that he’s seen his ex-girlfriend Wendy in weeks.

Already, Stan feared that he made a bad impression on her. His other friends would pep talk him and ask him why he would care when he could get laid with just about any other girl in town. On the other hand, Stan didn’t miss holding Wendy, physically. Odd. There was still an emotional pull she had on him. Dark eyebrows lowered. The footballer across from him touched his shoulder with his hand.   

“Don’t worry about it, bro. It’s probably for the best.” Gentle voice, Clyde tried to cheer him up. “If you moved on, that is...” Though, Stan would expect the other male would be saying that because he wanted to be next in line for Wendy.

Surprisingly, some of the jealousy had melted off him. First numbness, then emptiness, now Stan felt something… that was close to nothing. Perplexed, Stan thought it scared him. A great possibility that it had something to do with his experiences with Kenny and Craig.

As of currently, there wasn’t a drive nor a reason that compelled Stan to rush up to her to have a long and decent talk with her. Shortly after that appearance, he didn’t want to mend things with Wendy. This could either be a step up or a step down for Stan.   

 

* * *

 

After a five-minute break of smoking alone by a garbage canister outside, Stan went to his locker to clear it from the books that were long overdue inside. Incredibly thankful that the ninth graders had a different lunch break, that gave Stan a better opportunity to focus on just himself. And with the house party being a few days away, he’ll be able to coach himself back to being his old confident self again. Even if it would be temporary. To put himself out there again, this would be something he would want.

Stan breathed through his nose after exiting the restroom. At his hoodie pocket, his phone vibrated and he took a glance at it.

Stan slid his thumb over the lock screen, Craig.

It had been all day since he has seen him. From guesses of their two-hour fling, Stan suspected he went into hiding. Of the two, Craig would be the one who would detach first at any predicament. Somehow, Stan would entertain himself selecting the notification.  

**Today 12:26 pm**

_{Where are you?}_

Blunt for a first text, but he could deal with it, Stan rolled his eyes getting ready to respond.

The being ‘friends’ thing. That other text from the day before. Stan remembered that they were going to try it out. Leastwise, that was what was hinted in a previous exchange of bubbles before he had Craig’s dick in his mouth.

However, it was still a strange occurrence for Stan, why they were talking now. Somewhat, he could understand… It had a bit to do with what happened on Valentine’s day. What they did. He was still sore.

There’d be no other way to put it. Craig was still upset over the thing that happened at Tweek’s coffee shop. The big excuse he would use on Stan is that his standards were low at the time. Usually, with his own friends, Craig was more lenient with them when he was angry. He couldn't stay mad at them for long. Oftentimes, Craig would forgive them very soon. Seeing him hide in the computer lab, from what Stan would have guessed, they must have had a really bad argument. 

 

 **Today 12:28 pm**

  _{science hall, lol.}_

Stan delivered a few more texts.

 **Today 12:28 pm**

  _{what’s up?}_

 

 **Today 12:29 pm**

  _{you wanna hang out at the commons room or something?}_

_{i know our cliques have our own things_

_going, but we can always start over.}_

 

**Today 12:29 pm**

_{No, some other time. Just you.}_

_{Too many people are pissed off right now.}_

That was something new. Being intimidated or acknowledging gossip or ‘word-of-mouth’ wasn’t really much of a Craig thing. Unless, he was the source of it, and wanted to get back at someone. Stan figured he must be under a lot of stress.

 

**Today 12:29 pm**

_{I’m just doing some edits for the yearbook_

_at the computer lab.}_

 

**Today 12:29 pm**

_{You can help me pick pictures until the_

_bell rings or something.}_

 

The footsteps halted at a Coca-Cola machine where Stan grazed by alone in his checkered Vans. His situation, Stan almost cackled aloud at himself. He couldn’t be that lonely.  

Craig would be right. Kenny and Cartman would tag along. Both cared about Tweek very much, which wouldn’t be so undiscerning if they all didn’t hang out at the same popular places in the town. No energy to argue again. It could just be a friendly meeting. Stan sent a reply and didn’t look if Craig texted back.  

 **Today 12:31 pm**

_{k.}_

_{see ya.}_

 

* * *

 

Stan pushed his phone in his back pocket. His opinions would be shoved aside as well. Staying out of it would be a certain and best move for him. Only, no one had any idea what was going on with him. Technically, he was an invisible factor to it. How he wound up in bed with Craig, had turned out to be less unfortunate than he had envisioned.  

 _It’s just Craig,_ he insisted within when he twisted the knob to the computer lab door’s entrance. _We’re just here to hang out._  

He went by a door and turned the hook knob.

Another version of himself overlapped that reasoning. _Dude, quit kidding yourself. You both know what you’re here for. No one brushes their teeth two times just to "talk"._

 _Wait a minute._  Stan's current voice overlapped. _I do._

 _Use those eyes, maybe you’ll get lucky again…_ A different voice that time, Kenny ‘s. Grinning in Stan's brain cloud, there was the silliest look on the blond's freckled mug.

 _Dude!_ Stan hollered in the back of his skull. The door shuts and Stan wet his lips, back pressed against it.

“Hey,” Craig said.  “Get over here. You can take a seat or stand."

Stan was already in the room and as Craig said, he was alone. By himself. Stan took a soundless deep breath when he brought himself forward. At one of the desktops, there sat his classmate in a large sweatshirt and his blue hat. The only noise in the room was the fan inside the computer’s tower. After making it past the row of other desktops that sat on the long tables, Stan met with the inexpressive student across the room. He peered up. By Craig’s arm, an order of glossy photos that were lined up in rows at an empty space next to the scanner. Looking down, Stan swallowed before he parted his mouth. He rolled in on a chair next to Craig, eyes falling to his hand on the armchair handle.

“Um, hey.”

Craig bit into a red Twizzler rope and offered the package of it at Stan. The noiret in the beanie shook his head and declined with a small hand gesture.

“You must be really bored today,” Craig commented.  “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Heh, well I’m here.” Stan rolled his chair closer to the edge of the long table. “Just looking at pictures, right?”

“Yeah, what else did you think we were doing?”

Stan flushed and sputtered rather stupidly, “Nothing dirty. Obviously.”

"Okay." Defensiveness wasn’t in Craig’s tone at all, he simply asked. The overanalytical side of him, that would be something he’s never quite outgrown.

Being intimate with him. Stan didn't want to fall for him. He was sure it had something to do with his attraction to intellectual types. His fascination for them. Feeling hot, Stan found himself blushing, not being able to get out the images of what they did the night before. Being naked longer than a minute with Craig in his room. Stan’s cheeks darkened when he reached over the table and Craig’s fingers brushed against his. Stan drew his hand away from his classmate’s. Craig stilled. He recovered instantly with a straight face. His irises swoop up to the computer screen.

“You don’t like it?” Stan cleared his voice and answered. In his grip, was a picture of Token tackling a player in a Middle Park uniform headfirst.  

“No, it’s good.” Craig tapped his chin. “Place it with the others.”

Craig sipped from his water bottle. On the computer screen, he enlarged the calligraphy and copied what he wrote previous on a notepad, clacking away on the keyboard.

Eyes hooding, Stan slid back in his chair. He was already getting bored with it. While it was great to avoid problems for a little while, he caught himself wanting to ask about the night before. God forbids what was about to come out of Stan’s mouth. That would be him. Not getting out what he needed to say would usually ruin him.

Brows raised, Stan broke the silence. “So, you think my ass is nice?”

How inappropriate that question has been to Craig would never go if there were ten other people in the room. Stan would never be that idiotic. Thankfully, it was just the two of them. Craig brushed it off and busied himself with more colorful and glossy photos, skimming through the rest with his hands.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Concentrating, without looking, Craig sets them down.

Too smug, Stan approached evenly with a wicked half-grin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” Craig said. “ Just help me pick out two more for this page. I’m not gonna bring up what we did yesterday. I’m sure it’s too gay for you.”

 _Ah, he's still mad._ Stan wet his lips again. “No… I… I actually wanna. I don’t mind. I just can’t believe that we—”

“Went that far?” Craig stacked more photos in his hands. “Yeah… me too. But then, Stan, I’m not surprised by any of it either…”

He ignored the face Stan made that said ‘please elaborate’.

“You kissed me first. You may be closeted, but you’ve always been gay to me. You give yourself away more than you think. Anyone can tell just by looking at you.”

The comment was meant to offend. Or, maybe Craig just wanted to tell him off again. Too much tension. Stan’s throat burned from it. He wanted to know when Craig felt that way. Sudden interest in Craig now. An instant ‘no way’ for Stan, he couldn’t have fallen from that high.

“Bi.” Stan frowned. “Craig, can you please not mention that here? I don’t think it’s good to talk about _that_ in this building.”  

Not a syllable after that. Craig respected Stan’s request to dim the conversation. He kept mute and dragged the mascot image on the screen to make it smaller on the flat computer screen. Silent, he kept his concentration, duplicating what he has written in a notebook in text form. And then, his classmate opened up his ‘stupid mouth’ again. Craig thought they’d be done once Stan corrected him, but there was more.

“Fuck, okay, wait. This is gonna come off as really weird…” Stan spoke up after a while, going through photos. “But I thought about it.”

For a few seconds, Craig froze. He went back to business. 

“I know you wanna forget about yesterday, but I can’t.” The noiret standing above the chair chewed the inside of his lip.

 _Great._ Craig’s thoughts were equally empty of conveying emotion when Stan wanted to vent. However, it wouldn’t be his call, Craig would make sure of it. 

He asserted himself first.  “Oh, you mean the part when I cheated on Tweek back. Or, the part where he lied to me. Because that’s what he did.”

For certain, that was untrue. That’s what Stan believed. What went on between Tweek and Craig, it was absolutely none of his business. Putting his own affairs ahead, Stan would distract himself from that. He pulled himself from his chair, blindsided by the response. Craig couldn’t be that angry.

“Listen. You don’t really think all of this about him. You’re just spewing hateful bullshit because you’re too prideful to admit you’re hurt. Craig, you might hate me sometimes, but we’re actually not as different than you think. I’ve done this too many times Wendy. You're not gonna like me saying this, but I think you need to make up with Token and Clyde. I know it's been a little while, but they really miss you. ”

Craig stood beside him and leaned toward the buttons on the scanner.

“And you know what else?” Stan continued. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you and Tweek, but you need to get over yourself and talk to him. Fix it, or just break up.” 

"It's not that easy for me. I can't just talk to Tweek like that. He won't listen when he's emotional." Craig paused. "That's right. Me, who would always rather talk it out, wants to leave it alone. Oh, and let me add too, that we both had intercourse. Stan, I am not impervious to the string of events unleashed if he takes it the wrong way. I have no remorse for what I did. I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. He cheated on me first, for a beta-male.”

“Stop being an ass, Craig. You need to think about the way Tweek feels.”

“I do.” Craig grabbed his hard-drive stick. “Every day. I worry about Tweek. His anxiety, his well-being, if his parents are treating him right, even his diet. Every day, I try my best. I do whatever I can to be of service to him. He doesn’t respect me. He doesn't appreciate it, Stan.”

Stan was at loss, now at the words and baggage being dumped at him.

“Yesterday, I blew up his voicemail trying to make things right, and you know what I get in return?” Craig stepped closer to him. “Oh yeah, nothing. Just a fist to the shoulder and him taking Stripe away. It’s exhausting. All I do is be there for Tweek. All he does is take, and take, _and take._ He’s the one that changed, Stan, I didn’t.”

"I think I get it now..."

"No. You obviously don't." 

“Then why did you fuck me?” Direct. The question hardly beat around the bush.

“I’ve already explained it. It’s not your place. Don't ask me again.”

“You betrayed him.” Stan narrowed his eyes.

Craig’s expression remains plain. “You did too.”

Sickness constricts Stan’s throat. Indisposed nausea crept up Stan’s windpipe when that was just mentioned. Now glancing to one side, his fingers curled gently in his palm. His classmate was right. Stan was just as equal in the crime they both committed. He and Tweek were technically friends. They weren't at all close, but he did sleep with his boyfriend behind his back.

“Craig.”

“This conversation is over.”

Stan stood there, vexed. 

“I don’t want to hear about it anymore. I’m not talking about my feelings. _With you,_ especially _._ I’ve already made up my mind about the guys and Tweek. If lecturing me about what we did is your only objective here, then I think you should leave.”

The other boy stopped what he was doing when the teen in the beanie called. After glancing at the time on his phone, green eyes ascended at Stan.

“No, Craig. This isn’t about Tweek this time.” The jock’s tone gained construction quickly. No shouting match for him. There were enough troubles for him already. "I'm willing to forsake the subject if you just listen."

“What the hell do you want then?”

“Fuck me.”

Under half-lidded eyelids, Craig’s irises swam upward from the strong use of punctuation.

“What?”

“Fuck me.”

It was clear the first time. The original Kickstarter conversation for them has already taken a triple dive. Astonishingly enough, no ire for the loose cannon behavior that was exhibited in front of him. As deemed by his friends and comrades, Craig was the king of keeping his cool. 

“My house, let’s do it tonight,” said Stan, without caution. “I wanna try it out again. Just come over and fuck me, fuck the shit out of me.”

Craig made a noise when he simpered. “That’ll be a mistake. You really have no boundaries, don’t you?”

“You know when we said those things, I didn’t think it’d be last time.” Stan was upfront. “Well, like you, I had my doubts, but I’m really serious now. Be there. Four o’clock sharp today. Screw me.”

“Can’t, I have to finish this before Friday...”

 _Fuck,_ Life had a way of creeping up to Craig with surprises. He was now staring at Stan's chest and biceps. _Did you really have to wear a tight shirt today?!_

The thoughts screamed. Ironically, seduction didn't take much effort with Stan on his behalf. Craig did find him alluring. 

“You can use the computer at my place. There’s plenty of time for that,” Stan said.

“I’ve seen your computer, it’s shit.”

“Dude, who cares?”

Craig thought that Stan’s eyes would roll to the back of his head. That, being a bit of a habit when he was upset, the expression was not put to waste when Stan crossed his arms. Craig closed all the programs on the computer, he collected all of the photos and placed them in a messenger bag.

The yearbook student would make do with his time. Token and Clyde wouldn’t step near the science hall during lunchtime unless it was to gain more popularity for them on the pages. Because the computer labs would occasionally attract ‘Melvins’ the area would be easy to avoid. No one would be caught dead there. Especially not the cheerleaders or the student body officers.  

Stan didn’t say anything when a thumb bristled against his own chin and his face was cupped in Craig’s hand. They were kissing again. Warm mouths glided, collided. Small writhes and tongues gently lapping over another. Stan smiled. This was just what he wanted. He pulled Craig’s shirt and had him tilt his head down to him. Their mouths disconnect, faces a mere inch apart.

“I really want it...” This wasn’t Stan, it was just his horniness speaking.

He was making Stan horny. Craig. Everything that made Craig uncomfortable, all the stuff that he tried so hard to avoid, right before his eyes again. The air ran thick and heavy between them.

 _God, forbid,_ rang the voice in Craig’s mind. _You’re just as much of a traitor as he is._

Truly, Craig meant that for his ex Tweek, but he could be saying that about Stan in his head. Along the lines of what has been done and said, Stan has betrayed his character fully as well. The only question left about it was, what was he going to do about it. It should be no concern to Craig, but for some unforgivable reason, he felt himself gravitate toward the other boy slowly.

Hardware and hanging wires shook. Craig pinned Stan against the table with his hips. Brilliant blue irises burned with passion and need at Craig. The same desire as the other afternoon. A pale hand came over Craig’s shoulder, brushing over his neck. Stan’s palm slid to his classmate’s warm cheek. Without warning, Craig crushed his mouth to Stan’s.   

The shorter boy parted his lips. His own heart raced in his chest again, feeling Craig’s hardness pressed against his thigh. Craig had to be as hard as an iron bar. Stan didn’t think it would be possible to give the other male an erection in his class, let alone him. In his pants, Craig was long and heavy. All of that couldn’t be for him, it was unreal. The supposedly thick cotton on Craig’s sweatpants felt vastly thin compared to what Stan imagined it.

Heart racing fast, Craig’s hands explored while they kissed heavily. Stan pressed a palm to the table to keep balance. This was it. He wanted all of it. Craig or not, this is what Stan sought during this moment.

Giving Craig’s bottom lip a pull between his teeth, Stan’s hand with splayed fingers slid over Craig’s hard stomach near the drawstring of his pants.

Not one of being for trysts of any sort in a public room, A moment in that time, Craig questioned if he should risk it and go along with it. The picture of his boyfriend played in mind. They were currently not at speaking terms. A sigh barely breezed past Craig’s lip. He pulled Stan’s hand away, ignoring the pout of rejection he received. Stan was to ask why Craig stopped.  Instead of backing off, Craig slowly undid the rope of his pants. His cock fell out. Wetting his lips, Craig reached and guides his classmate’s hand to his exposed region. Hot and wet at the tip, flooding with his arousal. Craig’s dick twitched another time before slender, calloused fingers wrapped around it. Craig glanced up at Stan.

For no particular reason, Stan found himself breathing differently, suddenly. In the room, there’d be only the sunlight from the large, curtainless windows with streaks of water that dotted the glass.

Craig’s hips tilt again insistently. There really wasn’t much of a mood for each of them to discuss the inappropriateness of it all. Although, there’d be no point in vocalizing it Stan wanted to say that he wanted it bad as he did.

Craig’s dick was out. A real-life _cock_ in Stan’s grasp again, staring him in the eye. One, that was not Kenny’s, or Cartman’s small one, or his own. But Craig Tucker’s. His cock was hot, long, thick, and an even flesh color. It was pink and had a thick head just like he remembered. Lengthy enough to run his hand over. Big enough to choke on.     

“I can’t shake this feeling anymore.” Craig hid his distress poorly.  “My body’s response to yours is irrefutable.”

“Mines too…” A bit confused with what they were doing, he wondered what Craig went on about. How long he's felt that way. “It’s… definitely different than my own…” His complexion burned bright.

Sore denial. Of course, Stan would say such a thing. Here they go again. This is wrong. Hot shame and desire singed in his throat.

Stan remembered the neatly shaven hair Craig had over his pubic region. Such a delight to take in. Stan was getting used to Craig’s smell from the little contact. A faintness of name brand laundry soap and a clean scented parfum. Craig knew what was in it. Mandarin, rosemary, warm patchouli. With bustling self-confidence, he rose to the occasion and pressed himself tighter to Stan.

By far, Craig has gotten handsome. He wouldn’t be the lanky seventh grader with braces that everyone knew. Still slender, Craig had slightly more muscle definition in his lean build. He no longer had the metal barrier over his teeth. His overcritical and nerdy nature hasn’t so much deteriorated, but he was handsome. As kids their age would declare on social media, Craig had a bit of a ‘glow up’. As girls in class described, Craig looked like a modern day Abercrombie & Fitch model. Stan wouldn’t go that far to say… but he was a better choice than what he would have settled with during his last spout of depression.  

Snatched back into the world, Stan's irises leveled to where Craig’s pants were pulled down.  

“The first step is admitting it first,” Craig spoke.

“First step to admitting what?"

“This. Just admit you like dick, shithead.”

Unnecessary. The name calling, that is. Offended, Stan glared. “Really?”

Loud wasn’t Craig’s style. Not anywhere, or there. He would have to feel 'really good' to make a single sound. Being told what to do, Stan secretly enjoyed it and Craig knew it. Several times, Craig has seen it with Stan’s friends. From watching him over the years, Craig has noticed that Stan was a bit of a pushover. Licking his lips and parting them again, Stan concentrated on his task that was literally at hand. He wanted to retort badly. Say, he just took dick for one day and that’s it. Craig’s blood pulsed in his hold. He wanted his cock juices to dribble on his tongue again.

Heart still thrumming madly, Stan continued below Craig’s low purrs. It was the sound of a man. Stan liked it. He ran his hand all the way down Craig’s length and up again and began working his shaft. Enjoying it, Craig inhaled.

“It’s Stan…” the jock whispered back, remembering that his classmate called him stupid. “Call me that again and I’ll stop rubbing.” A threat, but it was also a lie. “Now hurry up and come before class begins again. And don’t get it on my clothes.”

The retort would be something that was surprising to even him. This had been the opposite of any fantasy that Stan has ever had. Right now, he was hard. Doing as he said, Stan jerked him in his hand. He could feel his own self become more aroused by looking at it. His closed fist slicked, picked up speed.

Panting, Craig pressed his forehead to Stan's shoulder. Beneath him, Stan could feel his groin strain jealously against the center of his pants. He too craved released so bad, it hurts. This was really happening. Craig moved and landed several damp kisses below Stan’s ear. His warm lips sucked over hickey patterns he made the previous day. Something, Stan very much so liked. It was entirely interesting seeing Craig in such a way again. Over him, Craig’s breathing quickened. It became more erratic.

"Let me fuck your mouth," the horny teen in the chullo ordered.  

On his own, Stan volunteered, sinking to his knees. Taking Craig’s dick, stretching his lips, Stan was on his knees by the tangled extension cords over the air vents. Hardly comfortable in that position, but he’d settle with it. Craig kept his steady breathing, thrusting in and out Stan's mouth. Short fingernails biting into his thighs Stan sucked his dick hard, graciously. His mouth demanded more. His spit dampened the short carpet in dark stains.

Craig moaned again. Hot come poured and dribbled down Stan’s chin and he swallowed greedily. Craig reached a gentle spasm. He uttered another curse word. Stan’s mouth was filled more with his rich seed. Salty and bitter. And coating the back of his throat. No matter how Stan looked at it, ejaculate was an acquired taste and it would be something he had to get used to.

Stan's tongue lolled over his bottom lip as his classmate drummed his dick over the flattened surface it several times. He had seen enough porn to get off to it. A real cock in his face. Stan smiled at the feeling of it being smacked against his swollen lips and across his cheek with it. With Craig's thumb pressed in his oral canal, Stan sucked on it deftly, never wanting to cease what he's doing, or let go yet. He knew they only had a few minutes to spare, it was almost time. 

 

* * *

 

“I don’t recall you being this into me before.”

“I can ask the same for you. Maybe, I wanted to try something new. I didn't think we'd do this here. Tweek must’ve really hurt me.”

“If that isn’t already obvious…” the jock trailed off. “First time I heard you being _hurt_ by anything.”

Less worried about receiving a bloody nose, the bitterness in Stan’s pitch stayed. And so did his stance. Sure, now wouldn’t be a good time to escalate things. They were hardly kids fighting anymore. Almost too exact in his punctuation. At that given time, Stan would put himself in the blonde’s shoes. Somehow imagining it has left a bad taste in his mouth. And it wouldn’t be his rival’s spunk.

“Yep, what a _surprise.”_ Craig tucked himself in his boxers. “This man has feelings.”

“Yeah… you’re definitely all man.”

Craig felt himself drifting as well. “Yep…”

The words in the air hung dry. For Stan, there’d been nothing like sounding like a cheap fast-food coworker that wanted to cop another feel of her boss’s junk at a cramped restroom. Rather adequately, that’s what Stan reminded himself of. At that point, neither he or Craig knew what to say, or wanted to correct how foolish they sounded. 

In silence, Stan brought his hands up to of Craig’s face and they kissed again. At that time, he pressed his hard crotch between Craig’s thighs, lightly grinding and humping him. The other male’s hand rounded and he pressed his palm against the mound of Stan’s joggers. As predicted, he was hard. Over the cloth barrier, Craig kneaded it and rubbed his hand back and forth over Stan's cock, kissing him languidly. Their tongues brushed, traced. and mingled again. He moved and nibbled Stan’s neck.

Logic was unnecessary. Stan wanted to see what his equally desperate classmate had to offer. Other events of that day remain in the back of Stan’s head. He knew he was being sneaky and deviant and he couldn’t wait to see if Craig could manhandle him again. Tilting his head back while Craig was necking him. Stan lets out a gentle moan. A small one.

This never crossed their minds, especially for Stan. The little actions displayed there would hardly fit his life’s bucket list, but from there, he could care less.

“I wanna keep doing this,” Stan’s said.

“Same,” Craig concurred. 

Now with his closed eyes, Stan accepted Craig’s wet mouth pouring down to his collarbone. Still afraid of where their actions may take him, but yearning it just as much, the noiret in the beanie lets out an inaudible sigh.

“Craig…”

Things were heating up. His own mouth, wanting to chase his taste again. The kiss slowed when Stan was pressed against the table, the dark locks of Craig’s hair in between his fingers underneath his hat.

"Nnh." Their lips part again.“…Craig.”

Stan kissed him back again. More forceful and passionate. He was getting used to it, he kept his arms looped around Craig's shoulders.     

“Butters…” the boy cried beneath.  

Craig feathered more kisses upward. _“…_ what?”

Stan breathed again, chest on fire. “Butters.”

The door in the room swooped open. Craig swiftly pulled his mouth away from Stan.

 

* * *

 

“There you guys are.” Butters marched past the row of desks that led up to them. “I thought I recognized you guys from the by the bulletin board.”

Butters sniffed. Beside the skinny blond, there was a shorter boy with round glasses and dark auburn curls, Dougie O’Connell.  

Stan’s eyes rested on Craig, who had his shoulder turned away from him and the rest of his classmates. When Butters watched where Stan’s vision trailed, Stan’s gaze dart toward the window. The fair-haired one looked at him questioningly. Fully turned away from him, Craig adjusted himself in his boxers. Both Dougie and Butters were facing Stan.  

“Doug, what are you doing here? Aren’t you in ninth grade?” The crack in Stan’s voice almost immediately giving himself away.

“Tenth,” informed the freckled boy in bifocals.

Stan’s shoulders slumped.

Dougie moved upward. “May I ask what you’re doing here? I don’t really see you around here too often. Are you trying to get a full page for free in the yearbook, Stan?” He turned at the blond. “Is that even legal here?”

“Heck if I know,” Butters replied to his sidekick, Doug. “Don’t ask me.”

“Yeah… this got weird fast,” Stan rubbed his mouth with his wrist, "…I’ll be off now.”

“You should have done that a long time ago. I won’t tell you again.” Craig slung his messenger bag over his shoulder after packing his equipment and Twizzlers. “Stay out of here while I’m working on my project.”

“Dude, Butters can come along if he wants,” Stan argued, mistakenly.

“You’re losing it.” Craig turned around and glowered. “I wasn’t talking to him.”

“Well thanks, Stan. Golly, you didn’t really have to. Craig’s such a gentle lamb. He wouldn’t kick me outta here for nothin’,” Butters added sweetly. “Oh yeah, you guys, you didn’t get it from me, but one of the rumors turned out to be true. I thought you fellas would like to know.”

“Aw, what?” Stan frowned. “Butters, dude, not now.”

“Rumor?” Craig turned around, rare glow in his eyes. Being in the school newspaper was an extra. Without the hobby, it still wouldn’t distract him from simply wanting to know something that could ruin a classmate’s life.  

Craig held eye contact with Stan before he turned, glancing at Butters.

“Okay, Butters, shoot,” said the jock. “What'dya got?”

“Do you guys remember Trevor Moore?”

“Oh yeah, Sacramento kid, he’s dating that Stacy Anderson chick, isn’t he?” snickered Craig “He’s on the team. He talks. _A lot.”_

Craig was in favor of hearing what it was about, already hoping it would be bad.

“What about him?” Stan forced himself to look up, still recovering from what he and Craig just did.

“Well, you guys are not gonna believe what he was caught doing in the men’s room with Mr. Jenkins at the talent show. Now get a load of this. It’s really good, Stan. I think you’d wanna hear this.”

“Oh, really, huh. I guess.”

“Is he gay?” Craig deadpanned.

“Yep.”

Stan’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Nerves fluttered in his belly at the news. Lips formed in a flat line, Stan kept an even temperament, when Butters went on.

“Last Wednesday, Esther was walking with Nelly and they saw him sucking Mr. Jenkins’ wiener by the tetherball poles. There's full footage of it for the whole class. Even the tenth-grade hall's got ahold of it. Frontal nudity and everything.”

The teen in the beanie kept the same face. “What?”

“I know, me too, surprised the hell out of me. He hated special kids. You don’t have to worry about him callin’ you a queer or a sissy anymore. Poor fella’s gonna switch schools. He hasn’t shown his face since.”

“You know, that’s pretty crazy.” Craig switched off the lights in the room, the computer screens flashed brightly behind them when they went to the door frame. “He always acted tough. I just kind of assumed it.”

“Well, there’s still time to get him back. I just saw him in the study hall.” Dougie suggested.

“Surprise, surprise. What were the odds, right?” Stan rolled his eyes again, sneering. “Dude, I’m not gonna rip on him because he’s gay. Is that it?”

“Well, actually —”

A loud, deafening noise impacted their eardrums. _JAR!_

Butters’ eyes expanded three times their size. The four froze in place. Stan and Craig looked around. Construction, maybe. There would be a huge possibility for that there was a new room being built in the school. Rather grimly, it went to ‘gunfire.’ No words exchanged, other than Craig asking what it is. Unwanted flashbacks. Stan felt the bile rise in his throat.   

 

* * *

  
As it would turn out, the sound would be more than a distraction. The lunch bell already rang. Not a single student has made it back to class. A pack of the tenth and eleventh graders swarmed together at the sight of an ambulance stretcher being rolled down the science hall. As a medic stood in front of the boy’s restroom, two other ones entered to attain someone. A body.

The students gasped when the unidentified teenager was loaded onto the thin mattress on wheels. A faculty staff member said his name. The same boy that Butters has been talking about, Trevor Moore.

His lifeless form bobbed on the stretcher when the paramedics covered his face and slowly rolled his blood and tear-streaked face away.

Kyle had his hand on Stan’s shoulder. His best friend swallowed thickly at the less vibrant pupils that stared directly at him. Olive colored eyes, now dull. There was a deep wound drilled in the middle of Trevor’s forehead. Blood seeped from his head where it rested on a pillow. Shaggy brown locks askew. At the sight, Cartman remains expressionless. Bebe’s weeping was the only sound when the young male is being whisked away to the ambulance truck at the side of the school.

Tweek and Craig have reunited again, fingers entwined and holding hands. With his other hand, Tweek rubbed his cheeks, smearing his wet cheeks with his long sleeves. Craig bowed his head and spoke softly to him. An imaginary weight crushed Stan’s chest before he tore his glance away from the couple.

“He didn’t have to do that, he didn’t need to kill himself...” Through tear-dampened lashes Tweek wept, looking at his sneakers.

"He's gay." Another student whispered from a second row, standing. "I can't believe he was this whole time."

Stan was rigid on his feet, he kept blank.   

“I never would’ve guessed, really,” stated Token.

“Meh, nothing to see here. I always knew he was a fag.” Cartman slung his backpack over his round shoulder. “Who wants enchiladas after this? I’m pretty sure school’s canceled now.”

"Bro," Clyde said, fingers scrunching the shirt material beneath his jacket, "that's cold." 

Stan and Kyle walked away. Kenny shook his head and followed.

“Guys, wait up!”

 

* * *

 

  
Winds sliced through naked tree branches. Snow fell outside when the students were released early to go home. Students piled toward the yellow buses in their coats and backpacks. As Cartman said, school would be released after the tragedy. Nothing but the sound of conversation, wind, and sirens, the main four walked to the icy student parking lot. 

**Today 1:13 pm**

_{Text me later.}_

 

Stan’s stomach fluttered at Craig’s text. Something new to him. The thought, easily discarded. He pocketed his phone and joined up with Kenny in Kyle’s car. They were really going to go through with it. Him and Craig. There’d be no music or romance, but the thought of them exploring each others’ bodies again made Stan tingle in the right spots. All for wrong reason, but he wouldn’t mind being noticed again. Until he finds someone with better equipment at least.

**Today 1:16 pm**

_{everyone’s still fucked up about trevor.}_

_{i don’t think we can tonight.}_

 

Dropped off with his friends joining him and from his backyard now, Stan has already sent his reply to Craig.  

 

**Today 1:16 pm**

_{It’s ok. We don’t have to.}_

_{What’s your Skype?}_

Stan smirked at the bubble.

**Today 1:17 pm**

_{dude you still use skype?}_

**Today 1:17 pm**

_{Lmao, yeah, they  just upgraded it.}_

 

 **Today 1:17 pm**

_{It’s gotten so much better. My dad has it_

_on Amazon Echo, it’s pretty useful.}_

**Today 1:18 pm**

_{oh yeah i think my dad has it too.}_

 

“Ah, dude, sick !” Kyle’s yell hooked Stan back to the present. “Stan, have you looked in your hot tub? You might wanna check on it.”

Wondering what the commotion was all about, Stan met with his best friend’s disgusted face and then casually walked toward the jacuzzi by the sliding doors of his home.

“Uh, no.” Before carrying on, Stan finished another text. “What’s in it?”

Stan looked Kenny’s way and he shrugged. Cartman guffawed, setting his soda can down at the edge of the tub. Moving slowly toward the direction of it, Stan’s lips twitched and tugged at the corners in dismay. Hands rested at the corner of the whirlpool, Stan peered down.

Cartman whistled. “That’s a pretty good going away present. From its color and state, I’d say it’s been sittin’ there for about three, four days. The matter is starting to gray at the corners and crumble at the sides.”

“Thank you, expert turd inspector, I didn’t ask.” Stan said, irritated.  

Kenny glanced.  “Yeah, that’s a pretty huge turd.”

The teen in the beanie yanked the hose from the side of the house, meeting up with the other three once more.

“Okay, now I believe you.” Kyle’s hand settled on Stan’s shoulder. “There’s no way you could’ve have Wendy over with the size of that thing starin’ back at you.”

“You trippin’, brah.” Cartman’s hands slipped in his hoodie pocket. “Who said they even fucked outside?”

 

* * *

  
  
“Yeah, they asked about the hickeys.”

Referring to his friends, on his bed during that night, Stan was on the phone with Craig. He was lying on his back in the nude this time. His sister Shelly returned home that night with Kevin, was kicked out of his house by his father again. Not wanting a broken arm, Stan knew his boundaries. He was taller than Shelly now, but it didn’t mean she didn't frighten him anymore. With much respect from her part, she doesn’t care to walk in on Stan as well.

“The scratches on my back are fading.” Craig was resting on his side in his own bed. “You don’t have to worry. Tweek won’t see them.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

 “So…” Stan rolled, facing his window. “That Trevor thing… I saw you guys holding hands."

“Who? ” Craig asked unblinkingly. "Me and Tweek?

Hardly his business, Stan felt compelled to ask. Remarkably, he could be in a phase now. Deep down, he has always been a serious relationship type of guy. Curiosity snagged him. The image of the blond huddling up to Craig earlier that day gave Stan mixed feelings.

"Umm..." Stan played with the corner of his pillowcase. “Are you guys still together?”

“We’re working on it.”

The statement was neither a bad thing or detracted from Stan’s goal at the moment. One way or another, he will get what he wants. He wouldn’t be pushy, but there had been genuine interest stemming from Craig. In that particular sense, it was enjoyable to see him that way, other than being plain or impolite over any silly plan he manifested with his friends.

“I know you have a lot of questions for this,” Craig began. “For the most part, I can assure you…”

“It’s okay, Craig. You don't have to assure me. We're just fuck buddies. At least, from here on out.” Stan's eyes wandered to his ceiling, he dropped to his pillows again.  

“You sure you're okay with this?”

“No, I didn’t say it was okay. Cheating’s never okay. I just… I don’t know what I want. What do you think? Do you want us to…”

“Us to what?”

There’d be no corners for Stan to cut around. He had to be forward again. He wanted reassurance for his actions. Even if in his mind and before their other classmates’ eyes, if it ever got out, that what he and Craig were doing would ‘fuck them up’.

“Fool around again.” Stan said immediately.

“I want to.”

“Me too.”

Craig turned the lamp on at his nightstand. For a short while, he meditated. All the while, Stan didn’t mind the silence. The shadows of a tree his sister Tricia planted a few years ago projected through Craig’s windows to his wall. Over the rustling sounds of the wind blowing the leaves. The breeze whispered, crickets chirping.   

“No school tomorrow. I guess that means we can stay up.” Craig spoke on his phone. “I’m bored. I think I heard Tricia go to bed. How about I refresh your memory.”

“Oh.” Stan rose over his sheets. “Refresh? How you gonna do that?”

“Make sure it’s just you. Hang up and get on Skype.”

 

* * *

 

Stan swiped and ended the phone call session, finding the Skype app and opening it.

“Dude, why’s it so dark in there?” Craig’s voice was in low volume on Stan’s calling device.

His irises focused on the silhouette of Stan in his room. No ceiling light on, no lamp. The curtains were closed. It was him, an outline of himself. Craig could barely make out Stan’s face being lit with his own phone.

“Hold on,” Stan whispered.

Stan shifted in his blankets. He finally switched on the light on his end table. The luminance spilled underneath the Broncos lamp cover, giving his pale skin a bright undertone. Luckily for Stan, his door was already closed. Knees rising underneath his blankets, he focused the camera on himself.

Behind Craig, he noticed the same posters and the fairy lights that hung over the headboard of his bed. They weren’t off this time. The lights twinkled behind Craig. Glittery golden accents sparkled from the blur of the panned lens. Surrounded by Craig's polaroids on his wall were glow in the dark stickers of stars and planets. Now embarrassed, Stan thought he should put effort into his own bedroom, other than drape his trophies with dirty laundry.

“Whoa dude,”  blurted Stan. “I didn’t know you wear glasses.”  

Craig canted his gaze toward his classmate. He tactfully said nothing. And then… beet red, the hue, crept through the bridge of his nose.

_Holy shit, is he blushing at me?_

“You should strip.” The aloof one spoke.

 _Fuck, well, we’re already doing this. I don’t see why not._ Stan thought further.

“Already ahead of you.” Stan pushed his blankets down. “I’m already naked.”

The comforter was casually kicked away. The camera is still focused on his face and chest. Craig remains observant. He brushed back of few of his dark tresses and dropped his hand to his lap.

“Now… what was that thing you wanted to show me?” Stan began, knowingly.  

Camera purposely focused on his best feature and then sliding up. The corners Stan’s his lips quirked into a cocky smile after showing his classmate his abs. The tiny urge to flirt with Craig would be necessary to him. Stan wanted to make him horny again. They’ve already gone far enough with one another.

Back pressed against his pillows, Craig discreetly slid the lens of his camera down to his pajama pants. Stan’s vision centered to his cock hidden in the confines of the material where the other teen slid his hand over it and palmed it. Eyes lowered, Craig’s hand drifted into the hole of his pants.

From the hall of his house, Stan examined the light beaming through the crack of his door before his blues returned to the screen.  Craig’s arm was covering his dick.

Craig noticed that Stan had his face turned before he relaxed and pulled his fingers away. Shelly’s muffled speaking with Kevin McCormick became less of a concern when Stan could see it again. Craig’s cock. Stan convinced himself yet again that it was the effect of it being a small town. That it was possible that he, could be sheltered. Craig ran his hand over it in slow leisure pumps, mesmerizing him. Precum slides down to his balls. The overcurious bisexual was transfixed, remembering it being in his mouth. Craig's cock was big and it flopped on his belly. Stan nearly salivated at the sight of it.  

“Still not gay?” Craig said, making his classmate’s ears burn.

Stan moved his phone in his hand. His own dick throbbed where the phone wasn’t facing. Nudity was never an issue for him. They’ve already done it before. Four times, in fact. And Stan could be in broad daylight.  In that very room. Scared would be far from what he was feeling. In his hand, Stan slid his gentle grip down the root of his own shaft.

“Just a tease. I thought you didn’t like me.” Stan’s voice was lower, husky. It’d be the only one he used when he tried to impress someone.

“I like what you’re doing.”

“I like what you showed me…”

“Mmm, less talking, more stroking,” Craig said.

There was the sound of the drawer on his nightstand being opened. Stan reclined on his pile of pillows. He breathed serenely, pumping quicker. Craig uttered a curse word, as the pleasure targeted within began to shoot down to his groin with more intensity. Another string of words repeated from him again. They’ve changed hands and added new motions for fifteen minutes.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, dude…”

“Not yet, what do you want me to do to you?”

“I want you to fill me with your come,” Stan admitted, panting.

The dirty talk would have to ease more in. So far, Stan was agreeable. He adapted well.

“Wrong answer. Be more descriptive. What do you want me to do?”      

Craig jerked up at the sound of the rattling of his doorknob. “Craig?”

Thomas. He snatched his blanket and pulled it to his waist.

The obsidian haired teen responded. “Hey dad.”

In the private chat, Stan gawped. Using safety measures, Stan has also stopped what he was doing. Craig’s phone was lying face down.

“You have company in the living room,” said Thomas.  

Craig rolled over on his elbow.  “I’ll be there.”

Within his thoughts, he thanked himself for looking decent in front of the other man. Non-disorderly or disheveled. There would be nothing to suspect. Right about now, Stan was just as terrified at the walk-in. It wouldn’t be Craig’s job to soothe him, but he would feel obligated at that instance to show concern. At least, temporarily, while they were both in it together.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh.” Stan was fully dressed after that. Band tee and sweatpants. “I feel so dirty.”

The words held no lies. In fact, Thomas barging in on Craig has made Stan so uncomfortable, he needed to layer up. Never being shy at baring his own skin, he would feel just as indecent when meeting up with anyone else’s father like that.

Craig couldn’t bring himself to comment on that. “I’ll lock the door next time. I didn’t know he’d do that.”

“It’s okay,” Stan breathed. “So, who came over?”

There was a knock on Craig’s door. Laura this time. “Honey?”

“Hey, mom. I know.”

Craig slid off his bed and ended his chat abruptly with Stan.

 

**Today 8:03 pm**

_{Tweek’s here. We’ll pick up where we_

_left off later, I promise.}_

**Today 8:06 pm**

_{ok dude, night.}_

**Today 8:06 pm**

_{Yeah, goodnight.}_

 

* * *

Breathing out, seated at the corner of his bed, Stan decided to put any heart emojis aside with his last sent message. It would be better that way. What he needed to do was keep his feet planted on the ground. Romance would be out of the question. Craig had a life of his own and so did he. No future nudes would change it. Both respected each other’s dealings and they were old and wise enough to break it off if things would get too risky. This was just for fun. That was all it is.

Putting his phone on the charger, Stan switched off his lamp and closed his eyes. How his new faith would be determined, that will be revealed in time.

As slumber took him, a vision of Craig holding hands with Tweek played in the darkness behind his eyelids. And then a bitter masked confusion. Stan has awakened a new emotion. Unease entered him slowly like a poison-filled injection.

What is this feeling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, hey. What's up? Thanks for the reviews on Kerosine Kisses, lovelies. I wasn't expecting so many that time. ^^ Bless you guys and I really hope y'all enjoyed this one.
> 
>  **Edit** : And I fixed a few things. Thanks for all the support.


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